16 > Gallery of Femininity: Butterflies Have Gone Away
Fucking cunt. Had it coming. Those are the words you expect from me probably. Those are the simple words. The half-assed excuses. Like there needs to be excuses. Well, of course there has to be excuses. Excuses are just reasons painted up to look like they justify me.
And they do. At least to me. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, though. I spent too much of my youth trying to explain my reasons to people, hoping that maybe they would 'understand' me. Trying to tell myself I wasn't 'crazy.' My quest got answered with medication and other... things.
So I fucking killed her. Fed her the pills I used to take and chopped her up like a bad steak. We do the dance of death and decay, hoping the butterflies will come out to play.
Except this one wasn't a butterfly. Just a dirty whore that couldn't accept what she was. So I fucking killed her. None of them have been butterflies. None of them had the magic, the hint of truth in their eyes. None of them since Claire.
Now she was something special. She deserved the cleanliness. She deserved to be left like a statue for the police to find. I hope they enjoyed it. Well, I know they didn't... but maybe it's better that I didn't see their faces then. It would have ruined my dream that maybe someone saw what I did and kind of liked it. Wouldn't that be neat?
So I figure that I should take a picture of this one. Keep it with me. Maybe the shock of it when showed to strangers might be what I need. I suppose that if you are surrounded by others who cannot understand or appreciate your inner thoughts and perceptions of beauty, at least you can try and take solace in their misunderstanding. Find the beauty in the dissidence, if you will.
That might just be the road of the butterflies. Certainly seems like that might be what they do in their cocoons. All these women keep getting so close to that, but fall short. Their wings don't spread. They don't transcend when I bring them my kiss. Claire did, but why not these ones? Maybe I had killed the one good hooker in the world? The only one that got to go to heaven. No more vacancies behind the pearly gates.
Wouldn't that be fucking interesting. If that's true, I guess I can already figure out my own hell. Forever denied the company of the one I purposely sent ahead to meet later. Isn't that a gorgeous thought? This one's copper got on my tongue. I taste the tang nestling between my teeth, mixing with my own. I spit in the bathtub. The blood-spittle rolls down her dead collarbone, nestling itself onto her semi-floating breast. She's cold now and soon to get very still. I like her better that way, really. The dirty cunt deserved her dirty death. Fucking men by the dozens just for the latest hit of heroin. Sucking cock for coke. I think my teeth glistened off the bathroom light a bit. Saw it reflected in the pool of the cunts blood. I see a scene play out in that reflection too. I see all those fuckers who used to get scared or feed me pills standing around me, completely shocked and terrified. I just grin and tell them "Her blood is on your hands. Blame this on your closed minds." And then I shoot each one of 'em.
Of course, this doesn't actually happen. I wish that it could, but I'm not stupid or that delusional. So I take the picture instead. Take a picture, leave a picture it seems: I look at her wallet on the counter, a picture of her son staring up at me. Maybe about four or five. Looks happy, but older than he should be in the eyes. That only makes me angrier.
Fucking cunt. Had it coming.(GALLERY OF FEMININITY: Fourty Stories. Short blurbs that are introspection into how Women affect men, society, and vice versa, spawned by images of various women from the LiveJournal Random Image Generator.)
all but the images are (c) 2004-2006 Eric Logan Taylor.
[01 > Night Cap.]
[02 > The Road to Metamorphosis.]
[03 > Defining Perception.]
[04 > One of Many.]
[05 > Locked in Stasis.]
[06-07 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (parts 1 & 2).]
[08 > A Pill to Make You Numb.]
[09 > Sides of the Coin.]
[10 > Sexually Transmitted Virus Detected.]
[11 > (Phone Post) Voices in Passing I.]
[12 > GuiltPictureBook.]
[13 > The Abyss and What You See.]
[14 > Yarns of Suspicion.]
[15 > Memoirs in the Fog.]
And they do. At least to me. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, though. I spent too much of my youth trying to explain my reasons to people, hoping that maybe they would 'understand' me. Trying to tell myself I wasn't 'crazy.' My quest got answered with medication and other... things.
So I fucking killed her. Fed her the pills I used to take and chopped her up like a bad steak. We do the dance of death and decay, hoping the butterflies will come out to play.
Except this one wasn't a butterfly. Just a dirty whore that couldn't accept what she was. So I fucking killed her. None of them have been butterflies. None of them had the magic, the hint of truth in their eyes. None of them since Claire.
Now she was something special. She deserved the cleanliness. She deserved to be left like a statue for the police to find. I hope they enjoyed it. Well, I know they didn't... but maybe it's better that I didn't see their faces then. It would have ruined my dream that maybe someone saw what I did and kind of liked it. Wouldn't that be neat?
So I figure that I should take a picture of this one. Keep it with me. Maybe the shock of it when showed to strangers might be what I need. I suppose that if you are surrounded by others who cannot understand or appreciate your inner thoughts and perceptions of beauty, at least you can try and take solace in their misunderstanding. Find the beauty in the dissidence, if you will.
That might just be the road of the butterflies. Certainly seems like that might be what they do in their cocoons. All these women keep getting so close to that, but fall short. Their wings don't spread. They don't transcend when I bring them my kiss. Claire did, but why not these ones? Maybe I had killed the one good hooker in the world? The only one that got to go to heaven. No more vacancies behind the pearly gates.
Wouldn't that be fucking interesting. If that's true, I guess I can already figure out my own hell. Forever denied the company of the one I purposely sent ahead to meet later. Isn't that a gorgeous thought? This one's copper got on my tongue. I taste the tang nestling between my teeth, mixing with my own. I spit in the bathtub. The blood-spittle rolls down her dead collarbone, nestling itself onto her semi-floating breast. She's cold now and soon to get very still. I like her better that way, really. The dirty cunt deserved her dirty death. Fucking men by the dozens just for the latest hit of heroin. Sucking cock for coke. I think my teeth glistened off the bathroom light a bit. Saw it reflected in the pool of the cunts blood. I see a scene play out in that reflection too. I see all those fuckers who used to get scared or feed me pills standing around me, completely shocked and terrified. I just grin and tell them "Her blood is on your hands. Blame this on your closed minds." And then I shoot each one of 'em.
Of course, this doesn't actually happen. I wish that it could, but I'm not stupid or that delusional. So I take the picture instead. Take a picture, leave a picture it seems: I look at her wallet on the counter, a picture of her son staring up at me. Maybe about four or five. Looks happy, but older than he should be in the eyes. That only makes me angrier.
Fucking cunt. Had it coming.(GALLERY OF FEMININITY: Fourty Stories. Short blurbs that are introspection into how Women affect men, society, and vice versa, spawned by images of various women from the LiveJournal Random Image Generator.)
all but the images are (c) 2004-2006 Eric Logan Taylor.
[01 > Night Cap.]
[02 > The Road to Metamorphosis.]
[03 > Defining Perception.]
[04 > One of Many.]
[05 > Locked in Stasis.]
[06-07 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (parts 1 & 2).]
[08 > A Pill to Make You Numb.]
[09 > Sides of the Coin.]
[10 > Sexually Transmitted Virus Detected.]
[11 > (Phone Post) Voices in Passing I.]
[12 > GuiltPictureBook.]
[13 > The Abyss and What You See.]
[14 > Yarns of Suspicion.]
[15 > Memoirs in the Fog.]