Beautiful and Terrifying
Prologue
The man seems fixated on one thing, as he peers through the top window of the apartment building. The young teenage boy walking on the sidewalk across the street had him so engrossed that he almost forgot to check the time. Everyone has only a certain amount of time in their lives. Life is only a short journey. Time is very valuable.
The teenager walks quickly, as if he were in a hurry, but it was just because his jacket was rather thin and the weather has only been getting colder and colder. The older man wants to run down the emergency stairs and greet the other. He wants to pull him close and warm him up. The younger boy is just so innocent and handsome. His olive skin is perfectly smooth, and the older man wants to touch all of it. He wants to run his rough fingers down the younger's sides, play with his soft hair, and make him moan. Yet it is much more complicated than that.
The clock's red letters read 6:47, and the man almost jumps. He's late; slightly, but still late. He pulls on his dark, winter coat and quietly leaves his apartment. He mumbles to himself, and he is off. He's trying to reach the park before the sky becomes too dark. Sure, it needs to be dark, but he wants to be able to see. He needs to see. He must see.
The man inspects the scene at the park. The children are all inside. There are a few people walking their dogs and listening to their mp3 players of choice. The man watches, as if waiting for the right one to come along. Suddenly, as if on cue, an older woman stops in front of him. She doesn't see him. She's too busy fixing the laces on her shoe. They were untied, and she had to simply bend over and retie them. As she bends over, the man moves closer, looks from side to side (where he notices that no one will be considered a witness, since they are all leaving and too busy with their own lives to worry about another) and covers her mouth, and he presses the slick, sharp object against her side. She jumps, and she tries to shout, but his hand is there, on her lips, holding them tightly shut. He pushes the blade in, deep in, and he jerks it to the side, leaving a long gash from her side to her stomach. The blood starts to pool, once he sets the dying woman down. Her final request is to see his face, but he declines her offer, as he pulls the ski mask tighter over his face, and he leaves a small note.
The note is simply one word: Time.
The teenager walks quickly, as if he were in a hurry, but it was just because his jacket was rather thin and the weather has only been getting colder and colder. The older man wants to run down the emergency stairs and greet the other. He wants to pull him close and warm him up. The younger boy is just so innocent and handsome. His olive skin is perfectly smooth, and the older man wants to touch all of it. He wants to run his rough fingers down the younger's sides, play with his soft hair, and make him moan. Yet it is much more complicated than that.
The clock's red letters read 6:47, and the man almost jumps. He's late; slightly, but still late. He pulls on his dark, winter coat and quietly leaves his apartment. He mumbles to himself, and he is off. He's trying to reach the park before the sky becomes too dark. Sure, it needs to be dark, but he wants to be able to see. He needs to see. He must see.
The man inspects the scene at the park. The children are all inside. There are a few people walking their dogs and listening to their mp3 players of choice. The man watches, as if waiting for the right one to come along. Suddenly, as if on cue, an older woman stops in front of him. She doesn't see him. She's too busy fixing the laces on her shoe. They were untied, and she had to simply bend over and retie them. As she bends over, the man moves closer, looks from side to side (where he notices that no one will be considered a witness, since they are all leaving and too busy with their own lives to worry about another) and covers her mouth, and he presses the slick, sharp object against her side. She jumps, and she tries to shout, but his hand is there, on her lips, holding them tightly shut. He pushes the blade in, deep in, and he jerks it to the side, leaving a long gash from her side to her stomach. The blood starts to pool, once he sets the dying woman down. Her final request is to see his face, but he declines her offer, as he pulls the ski mask tighter over his face, and he leaves a small note.
The note is simply one word: Time.