Whispering To The Paper Love Stories

Sarah sits behind her desk with a big glass of red wine in her hand, and the table lamp shines over her dull face - like every night. A small smile comes to her face when the last sip of wine enters her mouth. She stands up from the chair and walks over the stage until she is in front of her table with the light still shining dull in the background. Her mouth opens slowly and then closes with a smile as she thinks about something in her past life. She opens her mouth again and this time the words flow out of it like water down a river.

Sarah: You know when you are in this stage of life you just don't care anymore. If it is how you dress, how you talk or even how you flippen walk.

She walks over the stage with a no-care action in her body and stops in the middle of the stage and looks across the people.

Sarah: My life has been, well, let us just say good. Good enough for me though. I had my rough patches and I had the oh-my-gosh-what-did-I-just-do moments. Orgasmic if you ask me!

She closes her eyes when she thinks of her lover, Jason, that lived with her for a couple of years, and well, you can imagine for yourself what happened in those lonely nights in front of the fireplace and sometimes in the swimming pool. She walks over to the table again and pours herself a new glass of red Shiraz he gave her on their tour around the coast in 2005.

Sarah: His name was Jason. Jason, Jason, I can say it a thousand times over and over, even though it doesn't have that sexy French zing to it. But the burning flames still start in me when I hear his name.

She takes a sip of the wine and makes a familiar sound of confirmation to the taste of wine.

Sarah: The funny thing is he didn't bleed that much when I first cut him. I didn't think of him as the bloodless, cruel and heartless type. He was rather sweet, sweeter than most. Even his body, when I licked him and his, well junk, it was sweet. I cannot say like what, but he was sweet. And I liked him, really liked him. Until he...

She turns away from the table and throws the wine glass across the stage into the wall. The red wine makes an arch that draws the attention of the audience while she walks to the table again. She starts to write on the paper, but talks in a low and slow voice.

Sarah: Until he saw the letters in my room. That night was the worst night of my life. I have killed before, and it didn't matter then. Some of the guys were just basters anyways. But Jason... Oh my Jason, sweet little Jason. He was only twenty-one years old. Almost as old as some of the wine he brought me from his Dad's wine estate. What a sweet little boy.

The smile on her face is swept away immediately and the dull, emotionless face returns underneath the table lamp's light. She turns her head away from the stage as someone enters from her table's side. The footsteps of a sturdy man can be heard. The familiar smile stretches across her face again, but this time with a falsehood in it - like a robot would have.

Sarah: Hello honey. I missed you.

The tall figure of another young man appears onto the stage. He had blue eyes and dark brown hair. With the little knowledge we have about him, we can say beneath the Armani suit he had a body most women would die for.

Marcelle: I missed you too. How about you poor me some of that wine there, please.

He still had a 'childish' accent on him, showing his real age couldn't be far away from 19 or even 18. He walked to the front of the stage and pulled of his jacket, threw it over the chair and took off his tie. The top buttons of the white shirt came loose when he undid his tie, revealing the olive tone of his skin and dark brown chest hair. Sarah stood up from the chair with a new glass she found underneath the table and gave it to Marcelle. As he drank of the wine, she starts to undo the buttons of his shirt and pulls it across the stage. This reveals the marvellous body of Marcelle to the audience. In the back ground, where no one cared to look, stood a couch. She pushes him across it, jumps on top of him and slowly pulls off her blouse revealing the red bra and matching red lace panties. He looks at her body and puts his hands on top of her breasts.

Sarah: You are naughty tonight!

The unfamiliar sound of something being pierced is heard across the stage and in the audience. She stands up from the body and reveals the black knife standing out of his chest. She walks with the same no-care action to the edge of the stage and stands there for a minute, just breathing in the air. Her red underwear matches the colour of her personality, deadly.

Sarah: Some people are good at writing, some at helping other and some at nothing. I guess you should just do what you are good at, practice it and do it as good as you can. I am good at killing. I love it. It is my passion.

She walks to the chair again where she sat with the wine and the pen and paper. The sound of pen against paper can be heard across the stage, loud sounds of furious handwriting. The dull, lifeless face returns under the lamp's light.