Wednesday, 4 June 2014

Your Mid-Week Update for 06/04/14

Once upon a time there was a young woman who had a wonderful gift: she could tell how people were going to die. When her predictions didn't come true she would always do the deed herself because she was a woman of action and skill. She would wait on no man. 

Except for Prince Charming.

Prince Charming was the coolest boy in the kingdom, every girl wanted to go to the ball with him but he could only pick one girl to be his queen. And he chose a beautiful girl to go with him to the ball. He did not choose our heroine; in fact Prince Charming hated the young woman. He would tease her and torment her on the streets. Unfortunately, the poor, naive woman was still in love with Prince Charming and was very distraught when she discovered that the Prince hadn't chosen her as his queen. 

So she lured him behind the bleachers and beat him to death with a soccer cleat from the gym. 

The entire village was so distraught at the prince's passing that they cancelled the ball. 

Now no one could have fun.

The royal guards never found out who had killed the prince but the young woman never forgot how it felt to steal the dreams of an entire village. It was amazing. She wanted more. But before she could continue she knew she needed to know more.

So she, instead, looked backwards. 

She remembered the stories her mother would tell her at night; the wonderfully awful stories that would later inspire her.

Of the Ireland Butchers who stole children from their beds and hacked them to pieces.

Of the woman who bathed in the blood of young women so she could stay young forever.

Of the Clown Killer who would bury children in the crawl spaces of his house, to be eaten alive by the rats and insects.

Of men who built castles of death and maiming for their personal enjoyment.

Of women who grow up to be serial killers and can only aspire to such brutality.

The young woman grew up learning exactly how to use her wonderful gift. And she used it well but she was also cautious.

The one constant in all of her bedtime stories was that the villain always got caught.

She was a villain who was determined to never get caught until she wanted it herself. She put all of herself into becoming good and to the rest of the village it worked but she always knew the truth. The truth about what happens when the lights go out and the streets are quiet and the world is at her mercy. The glorious, bloody truth.

The young woman soon found a prince charming of her own: a pauper with a wonderful smile who knew all her secrets. And he loved her and she loved him, and there was nothing else to be said between them.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.
This is a work of fiction. Any persons or events relating to reality is purely unintentional

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