Consumption

Chapter One-Kell

Iridescent and glowing, her skin was alluring. Reflecting the light of the moon, she was so beautiful. Hair cascading down her neck like a waterfall of blonde. Specks of crimson liquid ran throughout, creating a sharp contrast. Why did she have to struggle making a mess of my pressed blazer. Wriggling and writhing, as if she was in danger.

 There was nothing to worry about.

This will not do.

"...Sweetheart you made quite a mess of yourself. I told you to not struggle," as I stroked her blood-stained face.

Mary Ann Nichols. You were so eager.

Walking along a negligent part of the road, I didn't expect to meet anyone, let alone you.

"It's dangerous to wander around, all alone. Your life could have been stolen buy some petulant heathen. I'm glad that I was the first to come across you. To be able to breath new life into you."

Seeing her inspired me to paint a masterpiece, reminiscent who she was inside. Shrouded in a guise of a depraved, immoral nightwalker lay a quiet courage that I admire. She was not a simple prostitute hoping to snare a man like a siren to a sailor, but someone refusing to let the world drag her down. Weighted with the cruelty of society, but still fighting to not suffocate. Something that had to be shown, a model for people to observe.

"Thats better...you look presentable now, wouldn't want someone stumbling upon you seeing you in such a state."

"That would take away from the true meaning of all this, dear."

There seems to be something missing. She's beautiful. A true masterpiece. Somethings missing...oh yes, she's not in the right place. Like all works of art they need to be set in the spotlight, set aside for people to be hold. She must be put up. On a wall...nailed. Delicately I pick her up. She was still warm with a hint of lavendar and sweat. Fear. Positioning her tender arm I commence showcasing my work.

Hammering. Piercing through. Pounding. Breaking and shattering through with a consistent rhythm, motion, beat until. Clink.

The sound of a nail meeting rugged, unforgiving brick. Enveloping and engulfing, the scent of iron filled the air. Thick and cloying, as her blood dripped. Rivelets of deep red flowing down her arm. Drip.

Drip.

Drip.