Further Writings

From The Last Love Letter Of A Dieing Predator…

September 23rd-12:10 AM

Another Reason For You to Hate Me…

I love you, but my actions can not be forgiven.
His name is Eric. He is more innocent than I. Though he enjoys the brief pain that flashes through his partners eyes as he squeezes the life from their throats. It makes him come with the intensity of an atom bomb, and I choke to death as his Hiroshima.
This is how I self destruct.

I think he loves me. But I do not care, for he is my distraction. He is my memory wipe. If only it were that simple. He is not enough to make me forget you. Nothing is. He leaves small round marks upon my neck and body from grasps, both painful and controlling….Wrists pinned above my head with one hand and another around my neck closing, closing, closing….
So now there are four… the first, the pain bringer, the alcoholic, and the one to come after… this innocent who is not truly an innocent.

He tells me he loves me with his eyes closed… tears roll down my cheeks and I say nothing…

Johnathan…. He is a boy I work with. He harasses me daily. His comments grow more inappropriate each day that I work with him, he loves my hair, he watches me as I walk away, he imagines that to kiss me would save him from his life of pain and under appreciation, He imagines that he can pass through my gates and give me pleasure that will blow my mind and make my toes go numb.

He has my phone number because of work, and the inappropriate comments now follow me home. I told my bosses, and they laughed it off. So there is nothing left to be done…

I went to Bismark, North Dakota for work on Thursday. It was a very long ride. I had not slept in three days, and there he was. He greeted me with extreme enthusiasm and insisted on talking to me most of the night, his comments becoming more inappropriate as the night went on. I laughed nervously and walked faster, being chased by the fear of something I can not truly understand.

September 26th 8:21am- I am exactly 7.4 miles from your house. I was much closer not twenty minutes ago, but I continued to drive, only glancing to the side of the road as I passed the Preservation Society building. Life has gone astray.
I wish to speak more of Bismark….

October 13th 2012 6:23 am- Bismark. It was a mark of what I am truly capable of.

After working a long shift at the target store in Bismark I found myself out at Denny’s buying breakfast with my co worker Johnathan. I had hoped to take the opportunity to tell him he needed to cease his inappropriateness, but instead the poor man nearly broke down and poured out this long tail of the abuse he suffers daily from his female partner. An abuse that he, as a man, could not face, nor report. I told him that many men face what he described and that he needed to stop the cycle. That he needed to get out.

After breakfast we walked through Bismark in the early morning darkness and spoke of our lives to each other. Both sad and pointless and aimless in our wanderings. Once we grew too tired to continue to walk we turned and made our path back to the hotel rented out for us by our employers. So I found myself sitting opposite to this man I hardly knew telling him of my sister who killed her husband in self defense and then killed herself. I did not cry. I only stared down at the patterned carpet, the colors blurring together as my vision went in and out of focus. He moved from the other bed and sat next to me putting his hand timidly on my back trying to sooth my broken heart. My hair fell over my face as i continued to stare, no longer seeing the carpet beneath my feet. I was frozen. He moved closer to me and his fingers touched my hair, in an attempt to remove the veil from my face. I jerked away from this intruding hand, my internal thoughts splintering and my body going into full defense mode. I had barely noticed that he had sat next to me and had been touching me.

I told him I had to go. I stood and left his room returning to my own which I shared with another girl. A pretty lesbian with shoulder length brown hair, who was not open about her sexuality. I laid fully dressed on top of my mattress and closed my eyes to the light that began creeping in from the curtains. Johnathan began to send me messages on my phone asking me to return. The sad and comforting boy was gone once more and the vulgar one had returned.

I returned home that day and slept for nearly twenty hours.

<p id="yui_3_2_0_18_1350213488203672" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: times new roman,new york,times,serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;”>7:19 am- It is cold…. I am cold… I imagine you at home, windows not quite plasticed over yet, cold… Charlie curled in a soft ‘C’ shape next to you on the couch as you stare at a television that no longer produces the desired signals and images of educational television. An old vhs tape clicks and whirs in its player, giving back an old memory. The box I gave you sits somewhere collecting dust holding everything I have ever given you. A hiding place for something you are learning to hate. Tar and dust stick and yellow the image of Nero, her tears of red paint nothing to the ones that will not fall from your own cheeks.

It was a cold night in the cities of trees and I walked the streets hoping for a tiny death to kill the lurking pain. The truth and the appeal of monogamy slipping away from me as my body hungered for something I could not find. Something you can only find once, and if you lose it… then you are damned.

On September 24th at 6am I sat once more at a Denny’s that happened to be attached to a hotel. Before entering the restaurant I had went into the hotel and had asked how much a room would be for a few hours sleep, and the woman behind the desk, with hair like the bride of Frankenstein, told me in a gentle voice that someone had missed their reservation and that if I was a good person and did not do anything to get her in trouble that she would give me the room for free until 2 pm that day. I thanked her profusely and took the room key before trekking back to the restaurant in the cold morning air.

I sat in my booth, a menu lying on the table, my eyes following the delicious curves of unimaginably built stacks of syrup and whipped butter decorated pancakes and perfectly cooked over easy eggs with bacon that promised both flavor and crunch. When I shook myself free of such mesmerizing breakfast choices, salivating and ready to order, I looked up into the eyes of a man.

Johnathan walked through the restaurant and sat at my booth, smelling of cold and cigarettes. I greeted him nervously and fidgeted with my menu, unsure of how to deal with this apparition. For that is what it had to be. It could not possibly be a true person sitting there in front of me. The apparition gained himself a glass of water and a pot of coffee and a menu to order from, and I sat waiting for him to fade away like static, or perhaps just disappear in a flash. He did neither. Instead he engaged me in nervous conversation for the next few hours and sat and ate food with me. When the check came at the end of the night, only my food and the coffee was on the check. I stood with Johnathan and walked to the counter where I paid for my meal and he walked me to my hotel room. There was a single bed and a very neat and clean bathroom. The bed was both soft and firm and the pillows felt like heaven. I was almost asleep before the apparition spoke again saying he had no where to go. That he could not return home, because she was there and because she would hurt him once more. And that if she hurt him again he would not be able to stop himself from fighting back. I reached behind me, to where he was perched on the edge of the bed, and took his hand from his knee. I pulled him to me and lifted the blankets for us to crawl beneath them. He held onto my hand like a terrified child as I placed his arms around me and pulled the blankets over our shoulders against the cold.

We curled together like spoons his hand still clutching mine as his breath thickened and grew heavy like the morning air in a forest on an unbearably warm morning. Such a contrast to such a cold night. Sleep hit me and my hand lost its hold as arms wrapped tightly around me pulling me close.

The sunlight hit the side of the hotel, creeping along each brick upward… slipping in through the glass of the windows, peeking in on all us sinners through the curtains. A giant warm hand that touches our faces in the mornings when we simply can not bear to sleep in. I could not bring myself to move. My eyes still closed, I expected to open them to an empty room, free of imagined apparitions. But the feel of arms around me and a heavy breathing in my ear along with whispered words asking if I still slept were troubling proof that perhaps this dreamed ghost was in fact not a dream at all. Or perhaps I still slept. Hands drifted over my body sliding beneath layers of sweaters and thermals down to thin tank tops and lastly to the small satin curve of each of my bra cups. Fingertips dipping over the lacey edge to touch my small gifts. I lay still, giving no sign of my alertness.

"Do you sleep still"

"Do you want this"

"I want this"

<span style=

“color: rgb(0, 255, 0);”>"I do not want to hurt you"

A beckoning voice softly whispered into my left ear as finger tips drifted over my body in a journey to excite and entice. Inciting such a rebellion in my soul.

And then there were five….