Me:
Her fragrance, it reminds me of the scent left in the airfrom wet sand after it rains. Her eyebrows look like they were worked on recently, and her lashes are immaculate. She must be a woman who pays attention to detail, especially when it comes to her appearance. A woman in a relationship would be unlikely to pay so much attention to how she looks, so I assume she isseeking a potential romantic partner, or at least trying to attract one. And who wears a formal jacket when travelling? A professional trip I assume. She carries a black briefcase, and in her hands is a copy of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth.” Unless she was born a century ago and has managed to maintain a youthful look till now, I would suggest that this lovely lady is a Literature Professor in her mid-thirties. Intelligent, beautiful, alluring; who could ever trust a woman with so many weapons at her disposal? I’m sure she has led many astray. I wonder if she’s thinking of leading me astray too.
Her:
His bronze glasses, they have a classic look, but they don’t seem to be for reading. Apart from his gold watch and ivory ring, they are the only thing that isn’t black in his outfit. His dressing seems very intentional. If he isn’t being pretentious, then I would like to believe he is a sophisticated person. His journal dates back a few years. If not for the sake of keeping up to date with his plans, he probably uses it for keeping track of his thoughts. He must be an author of some kind. I would guess philosophy. This one might actually be interesting. He doesn’t strike me as a family man. Or perhaps he has a family, but is the typical absent father who chooses progression in career over them. I wonder if he feels intimidated by me, or if he would find me interesting.
Me:
She seems dominant. My last victim was rather shy. She made for a very boring hunt. Hopefully this one will give me a challenge. Have you ever thought about it? What it’s like to take the life of someone else, willingly, with your own hands… At first it’s difficult to digest the consequences of your actions, but then you realize that most experiences end the same. In their final moments they plead for their lives. They tell you of all the things they hold precious within their hearts, all the things they’ve taken for granted, all the dreams they had put aside for whatever excuse they give into. It’s almost as though they wait until they’ll finally dying to admit to themselves that they haven’t been living. There’s something pleasing about putting out that dim light that lingers within they’re eyes. Too many always assume that there will be a happy ending. I wish to rid the world of this delusion.
Am I a murderer? I like to see myself as someone who ventures through the unexplored realms of the human condition. I find it ironic how if I kill the lovely lady next to me I shall be considered a criminal, but if she just so happens to be an enemy of the state then I shall be a hero. Are soldiers in a war not murderers too? This is my own war. Against who, you ask? Against the forces that for years have been trying to supress my free will by telling me what is right and what is wrong, what I should and shouldn’t do. I kill, not because I have been ordered to, or because it is expected of me, but simply because it is my design. This is my way of truly embracing my freedom, my freedom to do and act as I please without answering to anyone. My freedom to show the world that life isn’t always a fairy tale with a happy ending.
Her:
He seems confident. Most of them do. They aren’t so confident when they‘re holding on to their final breath, or when they’re life depends on how tightly I grip onto their necks. In those moments they accept that fundamentally as humans they are weak, nothing more than a speck of dust in the face of eternity. When that which they’ve spent their entire life trying to avoid suddenly appears before their eyes, their ego begins to dissipate. Suddenly, they realize their insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Animals! That’s what we are, very sophisticated animals in a very complex jungle.
Am I evil? What is evil? Is it an inherent value found in those of us who were born to naturally seek destruction, or just a social construct designed to promote the survival of our species by implanting guilt into the hearts of many for pursuing actions that are considered as harmful. In whichever case, I guess I’m evil. I’m evil for taking control. I’m evil for using unconventional methods of fighting against a system that has been oppressing women for years. I’m evil for showing, in my own way, that I too as a woman can be strong. For years I was taught to be weak, to submit to men. I guess you could say I’m simply returning the favour. How many women have been raped and killed by men? They think we exist solely for their pleasure. Perhaps that’s why I find pleasure in watching them beg for mercy as I precede to cease their existence.
Me;
“Hi. This may be forward of me to say, but you smell very lovely. Your perfume reminds me of the scent left in the air from wet sand after it rains.”
Her;
“Oh, you flatter me. I got it as a gift from my ex-fiancé. I don’t know why I still wear it…”
[They gaze at each other for a moment. He smiles, and then laughs. She blushes.]