The New Ripper

I was surprised how easily the scalpel slipped through the skin. Not unlike a butter knife slipping into a soft pat of butter, and while his skin was as white as soft butter, when the blood started oozing forth that was where the likeness ended. The blood was more like chocolate syrup and raspberry jam all mixed together flowing down his chest in thin viscus rivulets. I read somewhere once that inside the body blood is actually purple or blue but when it hits the air the iron in it oxidizes and turns it the vivid red we are used to. I wondered if your blood would be blue if you bled in space where there was no oxygen.

I shook my head and turned back to my work. And that was what it was becoming. Work, a calling, a violent career in the making. The hours of planning, preparation, and execution that it took to get to this point could only lead to a life long pursuit. As the blood oozed little trails away from my incision, the young man on my table started to gurgle. His eyes fluttered backwards in a contortion of pain and fear. The restraints did their job and kept his straining limbs in place and the gag tied firmly around his head kept his cries muffled.

"You know you're my first." I whispered in his ear. "Isn't that a lovely symmetry? You were the first person to rape me. And now... Well, now you're another first. My first work of art."

He thrashed against the table, his eyes wide saucers of fear staring up at me. I made another incision next to the initial cut, deeper than the first, the blood coming fast and hard now.

"I wonder how long I can do this before you pass out? If I pour gasoline in your eyes, do you think that would keep you awake?" I said glancing down into his panic stricken face, "Since you are my first, we're just gonna have to experiment, aren't we? You like experiments, don't you? It's science, after all!"

I lengthened the incision towards his stomach and felt the muscles of his abdominal wall resist than suddenly give way like coiled springs snapping under pressure. The rivulets of blood now turning to deep crimson rivers.

"O, how I wish I could hear you scream!" I chirped digging the blade in deeper, "What a lovely sound it would be! Did you enjoy it when I screamed? Did it turn you on? Make you go harder? Did you enjoy the bruises blossoming on my skin as much as I am enjoying the patterns the blood is making as it runs down your sides? And look at the beauty of these striations in the layers of muscle and skin! Truly art!"

Here his muffled screams became moans as he rolled his head from side to side in anguish.

"Well then, that's a wonderful sound too, isn't it? Are you about to pass out? You know, I think I might have something to help you stay awake that might even be better than gasoline. We wouldn't want to you to miss any of this." Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a large syringe full of glistening fluid. I held it above his head turning it in the light.

"See this?" His eyes flickered but I could still see the recognition there. "It's adrenaline. I stole it from the hospital where I volunteer. The nurses should be more careful about where they leave their keys. That's how I got my hands on all these surgical tools too. It took me months to gather every thing I needed to avoid suspicion but you were worth it, my dear. You were worth it."

I smiled down at him, "Adrenaline injections directly to the heart are supposed to be very painful. Are you ready?"

Blood started pouring from around the edges of the gag. He choked and made a few feeble strains against the table, the blood loss slowing him down. I took the needle in hand, pulled back and plunged the tip deep into his chest as hard as I could to break past his sternum and into his heart. His eyes flew open in sudden panic and pain as the needle hit the mark and the drug forced it's way into his veins. His entire body arched against the bonds towards the ceiling in a beautiful curve of suffering straight to the sky.

"Beautiful." I gasped.

He looked at me with terror and tears welling up in his eyes, pleading. I could almost here him think 'please let me go.'

"It's too late to apologize," I said picking up a bone scalpel from my collection of tools. I patted his cheek with my free hand, "Don't worry we have all night my dear but like all great love affairs and all great works of art it has to come to an end sometime. And besides, you can't have me all to yourself, there are others like you who need to meet my tender touch. But don't worry, you won't have to stay in your grave alone for long."

I dug the tip of the blade in and thought, "Just like butter."