"The Snare" (Part One)
A few hours ago, she was in my arms and I was lost in her beauty. I cannot help but speak in clichés when I think about her. I destined to repeat history: man worships woman, victim seeks prey. They bleed together and become one. She ignites blistering fantasies of romance and passion, all hidden by her submerged, murderous intent. Those that pen odes and sonnets do so by force of will. Men have killed for her; women have attempted to kill her.
And all the time, she laughs and gathers their addiction as a farmer harvests grain in the autumn. Lovingly, adoringly, she collects their tribute and scatters it liberally over the fallow land to see what will grow next season. In that way, she cultivated their lust and adoration; in other ways she devours the bounty; and still other ways, she wreaks havoc and ravenously feeds on hope of her suitors.
She is a powerful animal, predatory in every way. Her appetite for the kill would be legendary if there were any living survivors. Her victims were all willing at least until the last moment before their demise.
I would watch her feed, admiring her voracious hunger for blood. We have been called perverse and immoral, but those that call us by these names live in simple times and with simple comprehension. We live in a different world than that.
Some days, she kills for the mere pleasure it brings her—taking a life to sate her need is secondary to the erotic pleasure of seeing the light in her victim’s eyes flicker out. Killing for pleasure is not something that instills a great deal of compassion in the human kind, nor should it. It is a thing that sets her apart from the rest. She is to be admired, perhaps, for the passion that drives her to these gory episodes. A brutal act is horrifying if one does not examine the fuel that ignites it.
Ah, but that is only one thing about her; one in a vast and complex network of virgin senses. Her sexual hunger and bloodlust is something entirely more sinister.
( To be continued )...
Experienced by James G.