Friday, January 30, 2015

F.A.C.E.S


F.A.C.E.S

A Short Story


     I watched her walk down the street. I watched her hips sway and her shoulders roll. She caught my eye on the day I moved into the house diagonal from hers. Since then every morning when she began her morning walk I watched from my kitchen window.

     The first thing I noticed about her was how beautiful she was. Her hair was thick and red; she held herself with good posture and moved about gracefully. I haven’t talked to her or even seen her up close yet. I imagine what her face will look like the structure of it, the very fine details imprinted on it. I wonder what her different facial expressions might be, how she will look when joyful, upset or scared. That is my favorite to think about, the face of fear the one I live for.

 

Two Weeks Later:


I watched her walk to my house. Sara, the red head walked to my home whispering assurances to herself. She was getting closer straightening her dress along the way. This was our third date and I had invited her to dinner at my place. I knew the details of her face now. Her brown eyes that were constantly searching, her high cheek bones that framed her natural beauty and her lips so full so lovely.

     I had also had the chance to study some of her expressions. Her whole face would light up if she were happy, her brow furrowed when she was worried and she would bite her lips when stressed. Tonight was special to me; tonight I would see my favorite expression of all. I opened the door to find Sara beaming but nervous. I smiled as I brought her in and led her to my Oak Wood dining table. She sat down and proceeded to ask me worthless fill in questions while I finished setting the table and laying out the food.

     All through the meal I watched her face change as the topics shifted from one to another. When we talked of her work at the bank she looked stressed and fed up. When things moved to dinner she seemed pleased. I could hardly keep focused on our meaningless dinner talk my mind kept traveling to thoughts of dessert.

     After dinner I led her to the living room where I had chilled and drugged champagne. After she drank two sips I would have to wait only ten minutes to fully enjoy my night. I could tell she was enjoying herself; smiling, flirting, laughing. That was the best part. They all really enjoyed themselves. Women were so naïve and stupid. I enjoyed playing with them it was my favorite form of entertainment.

     I was counting down the minutes when her eyes became filmy and red. I excused myself to go prepare for my fun. I grabbed the tight rope and thin bladed box cutter from the linen closet. When I came back Sara was passed out on the couch.  I was really hoping she wouldn’t be too heavy. I laid my tools down and picked her up and carried her to the guest room. In the guest room I had a special metal bed that was custom made for my methods of restrainment. I laid her on the bed and went back for the rope and cutter. I was whistling on my way back almost salivating at the thought of her face. That was my dessert. That expression she would have when she realized her death was looming. I nearly skipped down the hallway just thinking of it all.

     When I got to the bedroom I saw Sara had rolled off the bed. I laughed in delight.  She was starting to come awake. I leaned to pick her up and she surprised me. I’ve never been surprised. She flipped over grabbing my throat and struggling to get on top of me. At first I was in shock but then I started to laugh. I laughed so hard my eyes got watery. She was drugged and a woman! How could she possibly think that she could overpower me? Stupid women! I kneed her hitting her between the legs. She groaned in pain falling off of me. I rolled on top of her still laughing. I realized then I had dropped my blade. She…Sara had it. Panic... I was too late. She swung around her arm with the blade slicing open the left side of my throat. I laid down dying. I was dying quickly, the cut had been deep and crimson blood was spewing everywhere. Sara backed into the corner crying where she watched me die. In the last moments of my life I got what I wanted, what I had thirsted for all night. In that corner Sara’s face was stricken with fear.

 

 

 

Author: Margaret Verece

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