Friday, November 2, 2012


Seen on the Purple Line to Linden at about 8:30 a.m. 

Gregg rubbed his gloved hands together slowly, savoring the feeling of the knit against his skin. It felt so much better than touching her skin, cold and soft. Soft things shouldn’t be cold. It’s just wrong, like an itchy tag in the back of your t-shirt, or nails on a chalkboard.

Before he left the house, Gregg pressed two fingers into her bruised neck, searching for the pulse that he knew would be missing. He had enjoyed the feeling of choking her—hot tendons straining against his palms. But her lifeless body held no sensory pleasure for him. In fact, it repulsed him. Once he was certain she was dead, he put on his gloves as fast as he could—before he put on his jacket, or his shoes. He left her limp corpse there for someone else to touch. 

Disturbing stories ahoy.

Sorry for the lack of a story yesterday; I didn't have a lot of extra time. You see, the Die Antwoord concert on Halloween was delightful, except for the part where I lost my ID, debit card, and CTA pass. So aside from work, I had to go down to the DMV yesterday.

In other news, I am very glad it's Friday. Must go now--busy day at work.

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