Warning: This blog entry contains material of an explicit and violent nature. It contains detailed descriptions of a violent and criminal act. It is intended for adults and will offend some people. Reader discretion is advised, you have been warned. If you are sensitive to violence or easily offended, do not read this blog entry.

This entry is purely fictitious and the act described in this entry is in no way intended to be read as an article of fact or news. The author apologises in advance for any misunderstanding which may lead to any offence being taken.

It is the full-most part of spring when I see her, in the park at the bench where I saw her last and she is still so perfect as to break my heart. I have missed her so these many years and thought of her so often. She looks past me as though to feign disinterest but I know she sees me, she knows me, she remembers me. How could she not, when I was there at her last moment, when I saw the last words on her lips pass from this world into the next?

It was her then as it is her now and she is still so perfect as to break my heart.

The stories of her were bleached and sanitised for the puny masses. They did not show the true beauty I had made of her, the true perfection of her lying on the leaves. The one who sought me, who still seeks me, knows the picture I made of her, he knows the deeper beauty of her last moments. He has seen the depth of my creation and my art and appreciates the perfect beauty of her, that perfect beauty that each time makes to break my heart.

Now I see her again in this place, the same place I have seen her five times already. I watch her from a distance. I follow. I walk naturally and calmly along after her even though inside, my heart is bounding with anticipation. She does not acknowledge me in any way as is her custom and her choice. In the quiet place at the end of the path, the end of her path anyway, that is where we will meet again. I already have the art in my head, the picture of how she will look. She will be more beautiful this time than the other times, more perfect. The one who seeks me will appreciate the work I have done, he will know the final work. This time again her beauty will break my heart.

We approach the place, the final place where she will lay in the leaves. She walks calmly as if she is unaware of me but of course she must be by now. We have been on the way to this point since the days of our births. Through different ways and paths we have been destined to be here at this moment. She will go her way from here and I will go mine and we will meet again in the future as we have done so many times already. I can see her hair bounce as she walks and the sound of her heels clicking against the stones sets a rhythm for us both. She wears a coat that hides her shape somewhat but yet I can see the curve of her breasts under it. The shape of her body is lean and shapely and perfect, the kind of shape she always has, the kind I used to have.

There was that exactly right moment a little while ago when no one saw, when no one was there but we two and that was when I took her. I rushed at her from behind and clamped my hand on her mouth and shuffled her into the brush. I wrapped the cord around her neck to stop her from moving and in a short while she did. The struggle made me excited and it was difficult for me to concentrate but my work must come first and her destiny was too important to waste the moment on dirty, sexual things. Those things, those dirty, disgusting, sexual things that have no place in this perfect moment. They serve only to distract me from this perfect and wonderful moment when I take her essence from her and create a new thing of beauty from her.

She lies there now as I have left her. She will be there for some two days I hope, untill he finds her. I would not want her to be there any more than that as it would just be bad for the art. I do not want her to be alone for long, it is dark and cold at night and she will be at risk of some thug finding her. She is too good for that, too good for the likes of them to harm. She is too perfect and too beautiful now to be despoiled by some mere man.  Of course she is different now than she was before, now she will never be afraid and never be anxious. She feels no more the pain of this life and her body is a work of art to be admired by but not lusted after by men. Those men that made me, those men that defiled me, those horrid men that can harm me and her no more. We are women and we are perfect and she is so perfect now as to break my heart again.

I will watch them when they find her, safely from a distance. I will know when because I will be the one that calls to tell them. They will never think of me of course, I am too small and too frail, just a girl, what could I do? Me, with my torn, scarred face and my poor broken heart.