FM August - Have you ever woken up in the morning and not remembered what you did the night before?
Usually waking up in the morning was something that just happened. Switches threw inside the brain even after drinking enough to fall into a black pit of sleep that brought instant awareness.
This morning it was more like trying to swim to the surface with weights tied around his ankles.
That may be why he missed the fact that there was something wrong until he saw the streaks of blood dried across his skin in the mirror.
In a panic Lex had checked himself for injuries but found nothing except that his thoughts were unable to process anything he encountered properly. Stumbling back to the bed to call the police it finally all came clear.
Her eyes were brown and so was her hair. He remembered picking her up at the charity function but other than a vague impression of passion and skin sliding together he didn't remember what had happened the night before. The perfect skin of her throat was cut several times as if she had been attacked in a rage that could only be expressed by destroying something perfect to make it ugly.
And in death she was ugly. Nature had already stolen any beauty she had and left her drained of color like film that has faded.
Lex gagged as he remembered fits of smashing and destroying out of pure rage that couldn't be contained anymore. Golf clubs on a car, priceless glass pieces shattered against walls, fists through windows and faces in pure mindless bestiality.
What had he done?
This morning it was more like trying to swim to the surface with weights tied around his ankles.
That may be why he missed the fact that there was something wrong until he saw the streaks of blood dried across his skin in the mirror.
In a panic Lex had checked himself for injuries but found nothing except that his thoughts were unable to process anything he encountered properly. Stumbling back to the bed to call the police it finally all came clear.
Her eyes were brown and so was her hair. He remembered picking her up at the charity function but other than a vague impression of passion and skin sliding together he didn't remember what had happened the night before. The perfect skin of her throat was cut several times as if she had been attacked in a rage that could only be expressed by destroying something perfect to make it ugly.
And in death she was ugly. Nature had already stolen any beauty she had and left her drained of color like film that has faded.
Lex gagged as he remembered fits of smashing and destroying out of pure rage that couldn't be contained anymore. Golf clubs on a car, priceless glass pieces shattered against walls, fists through windows and faces in pure mindless bestiality.
What had he done?