The beauty
The officer vomited thick, black blood as I twisted the knife. I felt the warmth of his innards against my right hand and forearm. Had they not been the innards of a policeman, I would most likely have vomited myself. I relaxed my left arm, which had previously been supporting the majority of his bulk, and his twitching frame fell to the cold, tiled floor. In doing so his body slid from the length of the warm blade and I remained standing over him, knife in hand, like a chimp with a machete.

Blood, saliva and vomit gargled in his throat as he struggled to breathe. He stared up at me with bulging eyes as I unzipped my trousers. I urinated on my hands to rid them of the filthy blood with my cleansing golden feculence. I then offered my fingers to his nose so that he could take in the full aroma, but his nose was full of glutinous brown blood and mucus and, alas, he was unable to take advantage of my generous offer.

Then, inevitably, the tears came. The room, an abandoned public lavatory, echoed with the sound of my uncontrollable sobs, filling my ears with reverberating, desperate, animalistic cries. It was as though Lucifer himself had been residing within my gullet and had finally decided to emerge like a flurry of starving jackdaws, bouncing from the walls and squawking around my head in bowel-squeezing agony, their poisoned beaks caving into their own faces, injecting their feathered torsos with unholy venom, thus creating a swarm of toxic, flat-faced hellfinches.

It was only when my sobbing ceased that I realized the full extent of my actions. On the floor lay a dying man. I lay next to him. No man should have to spend his final moments alone. The pool of blood in which I lay was beginning to cool and it felt refreshing as it soaked into my corduroy trousers. I put an arm across the man's chest wound. I patted it gently to comfort him, prompting him to whimper. The sound from his crusty-blood lips was small and sweet like that of an imported Jap during climax. I took this as a sound of appreciation, and this evoked further tears from my throbbing face. But this time they were not tears of ecstatic joy, but tears of rib-crushing sorrow.

I emitted a wail, the likes of which would make God himself jealous. My eyes were wider than the wound in my new lover's chest, and as the light pierced my corneas I could see the shapes of a thousand small orphans in a circle, each whipping the one to its left across the cheek with a kettle flex. The sight was beautiful, and it was in this moment that I understood once more why I committed the acts that I did.

When this brief moment had passed I realized that my companion on the floor had died. I lay with him for three days and nights, kissing him passionately whenever my lips felt to be getting dry. His beauty only improved over time. I was sad to leave him.
(stusut79, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 17:26, Reply)