Persephone

Serial killers often record the sound of a crying baby and place it on the doorstep of their next victim, if that victim happens to be female. A woman is drawn to helping the needy, and after all, what’s needier than a crying baby? The woman steps outside to look for the infant and with the click of your fingers, she’s been grabbed by the killer and is found a few hours later lying in a ditch with a slit throat. I however, don’t bother with the last part.

I’ve recorded over fifty different baby cries to this date, beautifully shattering howls that instinctively draw my beauty out of her house. And I sit, and I watch. As her diamond eyes scan across the street looking for the child. I’m no more than ten feet away but I want to get closer. Just seeing her makes me want to be near her, be so close I can feel the warmth radiating off her body and smell the expensive musky perfume she sprays herself with each morning at approximately ten minutes to eight before she leaves for work. 

As her eyes search the landscape, her brow knits into a tight frown and a confused look floods her face. At this point I knew. I knew that my beauty would re-enter her house and lock the door, leaving me to just remember her image: her caramel hair cut like a razor against her prominent shoulder blades, her cheekbones as sheer as cliff edges, her almond shaped eyes with their deep ocean colour, her buttery skin that shimmered like twenty four carat gold, her small but curvaceous bust and hips contrasting against her miniscule waist and the small birth mark on her inner left thigh shaped like a human heart. Like my heart, beating only for my love; my Juliet and I her Romeo, my Cleopatra and I her Mark.  Without her I am nothing, but I am nothing to her. To be near to my girl is nothing less than nirvana but to touch her would be exquisite.

How could I be so thoughtless? My grubby hands caressing her body, my monster stare forcing its way into her; such things would ruin her beauty. Destroying it slowly beneath my tight grip would be a crime. Yet I am fully aware that my body needs to be near her, to have one touch in order to be satisfied. My heart yearns for her and my head is repelled by the thought of my ability to mutilate her flawlessness. Disgust constantly submerges my thoughts; I am the devil in fancy dress. Forcing my treasure into an insecure mind for my own sick pleasure, nevertheless stopping would be insane. Quitting now, whilst so far ahead in the game, is unthinkable. My desire is stronger than my disgust. And I will never give up until she is not just mine in thought but mine in reality. Where she herself manipulates her slender hands all over me and calls me endearing names. Where she herself loves me as much as I adore her. Where she needs me as much as I live and breathe for her. To me, she is the sun; I must admire her from a great distance, for if I get too close I will burn myself. The creature that I cannot come close to, she is dangerous. I crave her body, I yearn to touch her and see what pleasure it brings her. The way her toes tingle when she climaxes and the way her face saturates itself in bliss whilst I sink my teeth into her protruding bones. I want to indulge in her taste, the sweetness of her as my teeth collide with her skin. She will groan and I will grin, as I have won the greatest trophy of all. I almost feel gluttonous thinking about it, spoiling myself with thoughts of her.

Her name is Persephone (Per•seph•a•nie), the Greek Goddess of Innocence, the Queen of the Underworld. Those four syllables constantly on my tongue, on my mind, on my heart. Etched onto my body like an artist’s canvas. Carved into my skull, so I never forget her. She will be a part of me for as long as I live.  She will forever be mine.  My very own Greek Goddess of Innocence, Queen of the Underworld. I want to chisel my name into her golden skin and keep her like a prized possession. Butcher her with the scars of my name.

Oh Persephone, how I long to breath in your candy like smell and run my dishevelled fingers along the ridges of your spine, in order to see your lips plump up with blood in satisfaction. Never has your title, Goddess of Innocence, been so fitting; my love has no idea how I plan for her to be mine.  Yet the only contact I have are my tape recordings, those sobs that lure my Persephone into my presence and into my world. Even the thought of my darling not being able to fall into a deep slumber without pressing her voluptuous lips against mine fills me with contentment. I must have her; I must contaminate her thoughts as much as she contaminates mine. Persephone will be mine in thought and mine in reality, forever to keep and admire. Like a china doll but one in which I am allowed to disfigure to my liking. Oh Persephone, do not fret my dear. I will take good care of you.

My ears prick up, my heart beats rises and my breath shortens as I realise she has appeared, glowing like an angel. How I wish I could jump up from my hiding place and embrace her, explain my love to her and for her to return the favour. Adrenaline soars through my body at the sight of her, from the coronal suture to my distal phalanges. Like a bolt of energy surging through me, making me want to pounce. She is leaving her castle, locking the door so that no intruder may make his way inside. The urge overcomes me; I must envelop her in my thick monstrous arms, seize her from the evil of the world and protect her. Make sure she remains the Goddess of Innocence. The overload of emotion is enough to make me collapse, the tips of my fingers tingle with ecstasy. Unaware, she draws closer towards me filling my blood with volts of lust, longing to make her aware of my presence. Her delicate body passes me with such grace, immersing me in her extravagant scent, filling my lungs and choking me with its pungency. Notes of jasmine, lily of the valley and violets fill my nasal cavities, suddenly I feel drugged and under a spell. Light-headed and delirious. My mind is not functioning; the feeling of being intoxicated engulfs me; without thinking I rise unsteadily to my feet and bellow,



“Persephone!”



I am no longer in disguise, I am just the devil.