What follows was not easy to recount. I have alluded to such things before, but I have never been explicit, and even here I find myself forced to soften the words and the images. I nearly posted this elsewhere to keep it off of this site, but that would be inappropriate. If what follows offends or disturbs I can offer only that life often offends or disturbs. If it makes it any easier to accept, know that I still carry the sickening weight of this monstrosity. It haunts me to this day.

Roughly two thousand years in the past, I was quite insane:

It is a game, nothing more. I slip out in to the twisted labyrinth of the city’s stinking streets and drop my lure- in this case, myself. Naked but for a scrap of linen, or perhaps something finer, a little jewelry, and a pair of sandals I stroll the winding sewers that make up the Eternal City, centre of power and all things glorious. They think me a slave, a prisoner of their power, a thing.

I hate them. I hate their pretensions to civilization; their fascination with blood sport, their arrogant assumption of superiority. The very soul of their culture is warped and diseased and I had allowed it to infect me, to deceive me in to believing that I could become a part of it. Then I watched it destroy the first person I had ever truly loved.

So I play my part, enticing the lust-addled simpletons to my bloated mistress’s wretched establishment where lesser creatures sweat and toil for the pleasures of beasts. I bring a high price the nights I am there, but I serve my mistress better as an advertisement, and this permits me to satisfy my own need. Every day I seek what I crave, some misbegotten fool believing he has a right to my body, to my undivided attentions. I entice him with the easy promise of fulfilling my duty.

It is always the same, yet it is always just different enough. Each is unique in his own way. A dark corner, or a back room, private and unnoticed, a perfect place for his brutish pleasures, except… It is always such a surprise. Private for him, perfect for me- I delve in to my deepest place and produce a work of art. I never use a weapon; I delight in taking my prize with my bare hands.

A soft caress transforms in an instant to a sharp blow to the throat. Perhaps he is confused, not understanding what I have done. Then the panic sets in, the fractured airway sealed forever against the precious release of life-giving breath. Some, the pathetic ones, clutch at their throat, struggling to breathe, thrashing and kicking as I laugh, taunting them. Others are more entertaining, spending their last moments in a rage, trying to lay their hands around my pretty neck and send me to Hades before them- and they learn I am swift and strong and disinclined to die. I take small pity on those, as their strength fails and they fall, easing them to the ground, whispering to them, telling them how they have lightened the day of an ancient creature.

Playful wrestling, a game of chase that incites his lust until that moment when I dance in to that one spot, poised just so, where I have all the advantage and this fool is at my mercy, confident there is naught to concern him in the form of this curvaceous, giggling wench. I slip my arm about his neck and he laughs as I trap him, then stiffens as I pull. There is a spasm of reaction as I apply all my strength in a single, savage wrenching twist. Flesh tears, gristle popping, and bones grinding until the sudden deep, thick crack of separation is felt and he goes limp in my grasp. I let him fall, grinning, gasping as the laughter forces its way up to my lips and I am trembling from excitement and exertion- it is no small effort to break a man’s neck. It lacks the artistry of other methods, but the pure adrenaline, the sudden contest of strength with the certainty that I shall not be denied my trophy, it is the closest this comes to a pure sexual thrill, and it surpasses all in the sense of being suddenly, vividly alive when it is done. Again, I lower my lips to his ear, and whisper the secret I shall allow him to take to his grave. A parting gift he hardly deserves.

“Die quietly like a good fellow, yes? You have fallen prey to a Goddess…”

Let my whispered words mock them and their worthless gods.

The first few become a dozen. The dozen become scores, then hundreds, and then many hundreds. This city is an abattoir- a few extra murders per week can hardly be expected to elicit concern. Still, eventually they come to suspect something is amiss, and even then they have no inkling. My score stands at Eight Hundred and Forty-Six the first time anyone thinks to question the pretty slave seen here and there where the corpses are discovered, and yet all they ask is “Have you seen anything?” I am too small, too feminine, too submissive and far too deft at manipulating men to become a suspect, even when so many things point directly at me. It is a blindness born of arrogance, and fully thirty pay for that with their lives, tortured to death by frustrated agents of the law and other interested parties determined to punish somebody while I add another fifty or so by my own hand.

It had begun slowly and so does it end. Even one such as I cannot ignore the growing scrutiny and my pace slackens, and with it the madness that drives me ebbs, until one day when I draw a man in to my net… and then let him go. He would have been number Nine Hundred and Thirteen…

Six years of homicidal madness, arguably the price paid for my first taste of love.

One Response to “Monsters”

  1. The following comments are as they first appeared on the old BlogSpot/Haloscan system. –ZM

    Okay, I’m sorry I brought it up, and I feel even worse that you decided to post it since we’d never gotten to the bottom of the question: could you be held liable for stuff like this? I have to wonder what the courts would think of prosecuting an immortal for crimes comitted centuries ago?
    John | Email | Homepage | 11.16.03 – 3:28 am | #

    No jurisdiction would take the case.
    No judge, jury, or even prosecutor would touch it. The only evidence that a crime actually took place is MD’s statement. She could write a detailed accounting of events, sell it to a publisher, and it might even get published… as fiction.

    She’s in less danger with this than I would be if I claimed to have caused people to die at thousands of miles by the force of my will.
    Dishman | Email | Homepage | 11.16.03 – 8:25 pm | #

    The issue we discussed was not so much one of prosecution, rather it was the idea that should I come to the attention of the government they might attempt to use such admissions as a pretext for taking me in to custody whilst they determined my status under the law. Under that guise it would be conceivable that I could be tested, genetically scanned, etc, against my will.

    It would be unwise to assume that I would be afforded constitutional protections should there be any reason to suppose I am not entirely human. To the best of my knowledge there is unlikely to be any truly relevant case law to fall back upon.

    As to why I decided to post this… it simply seemed necessary.

    MD | Email | Homepage | 11.16.03 – 9:26 pm | #

    Ever further, further More,
    Down the Rabbid Whore we go…
    -Lewis Carrol

    Do you think you’re crazy?
    Alice | Email | Homepage | 11.17.03 – 2:33 am | #

    No, I do not think I am crazy, but of what value is my opinion on that topic?

    MD | Email | Homepage | 11.17.03 – 3:22 pm | #

    T. – “Woman of Leisure”:

    Pure curiousity. Do crazy people ever think they are? I’m quite certain the gamut of “normal” people institutionalized would put my meager imagination to shame. I think there is a certain level of schizophrenia involved with the suspension of identity you display to be sure, however, I admire the rampant use of creative outlets. I would caution anyone to assume none smarter exist than one self. The assesment of your own level of intelligence, is clearly the same fools errand as trying to determine the level of your own sanity.

    If someone of my limited intellect can connect the dots, surely others far more qualifed could do so as well.
    Anonymous | Email | Homepage | 11.18.03 – 11:23 am | #

    You think you are the only otherkin in existance? I assure you dear lady, you are not. However, you do indeed have a silver tongue and a wonderfull way of telling stories. I find your journel to be entertaining to say the least. I understand all too well the deep longing most immortal’s feel. There is always a need to not be alone, to find someone that understands you. Someone you dont have to hide from.
    You may add me to MSN messenger if you wish to talk.
    Tilleurana of Lumaos, The Keeper of the Lost
    Tilleurana of Lumaos | Email | Homepage | 03.19.04 – 4:31 pm | #