Jar of Conscience

 

 

She didn’t see me slip a lozenge on the glass of wine she’s drinking. She didn’t recognise the taste of my horrid attempt. She satiated her itch by shoving the danger down her throat, she didn’t even notice my presence, how my ice cold hands touched her hips with malice. The bitch, always the vain one, always riding her elusive pedestal, after I’m done with her, she’ll be free from superficial happiness, she’ll be a part of me, a part of something more historic.

I waited until she’s alone and attacked her from behind. She wasn’t able to put up a fight as the drug started to spread throughout her system. She was merely a rag doll, delirious from a cocktail of alcohol and pills. I started to feel a rush of thrill while staring at her motionless body, she was still warm, her life at my mercy.

In a few hours, her mutilated corpse will hang from my ceiling, the dripping of her blood will be my lullaby, her dead eyes will be the star in my temple. She will only see me. She is mine now.