man-killer

   Light speed rockets flying to new moons, and in the mean time she’s living a mean time. Not dark, or gray, just red. Kind of too red, maybe. Sacking grocery stores, picking pockets, copping houses. She’s the face of danger sometimes, and most of the time just looks as average as the next person; a disguise, not intentional, but effective.
   “(pretty) Little girl got the blues”, thinks the mom to herself, watching her barely touch the food at the dinner table. Little does she know her daughter is the scum of society, punk freak with no boundaries, and wouldn’t hesitate in killing a cat to win a dare.
   Twenty years of age——basement a bunker——collects bones dug up from old graves——misanthropic ritual——fueled on hatred——cuts her mouth on the inside so the pain lasts longer——masturbates with a toilet brush——has a date rape planned for tonight with the first male that talks to her at the bar.
   “Hey there!, what’s up?” says he, sitting at the table.
   “Hello, handsome” she responds with a sassy smile; her eyes like traps so easy to fall into, “nothing much. How about you?”
   A few hours later his loud, annoying laughter started to quiet down, his eyes struggled to stay open, words scrambled, fading senses. She picked him up, the Uber was waiting outside, the address was spilled after the third bottle of beer.
   A good pitcher he said he was, blabbing nonstop about the many trophies won in regional league. Never asked a question, spray-mouth, self-satisfied male trying to impress, itching for a quick fuck. Now so fragile and vulnerable, 200 pound piece of meat, being dragged upstairs.
   Poison? Too obvious. Bleed? Too peaceful. Looking around, found a bat. Pristine, shiny brown, Brett bros. bat. Would do a good surprise —, both to him and to whoever found him later —, shift gears in his sleep, dreams of hell for the damned, for them filthy pigs. After a wind up it went down, then again and again. He was left unrecognizable; she took the bat home with her. The stains weren’t visible on the black dress or the leather jacket at the brink of night.
   That wasn’t her first rodeo, wouldn’t be the last. She still had three other boyfriends, a piss puddle of a dad, and so many other future rapists and wife beaters to cure. This world would never be clean, but she did what had to be done.