MATURE CONTENT
EXCERPT: "He’d go down Whitechapel way. He had been there before, slumming; looking down his nose at the inhabitants. It made him feel better. Compensation.
Whitechapel Road was busy. The market stalls were filled with useless claptrap. The eager faces of sellers smiling and groveling at him as he walked by, calling out to him in their guttural voices to look at their worthless wares; wares eagerly sought by others but not him—not a gentleman. Of course he had bought a hatchet recently. Nice little thing, but rather big. The knife was much better: stainless steel—razor sharp.
Just placing it in his coat was enough to still the rage. “You just wait, Mr. Rough and Ready. You and I shall show them.”
Next to the Ten Bells in Spitalfields and a few beers, not too many or they’d slow his reflexes. The place was packed. What a noisy bunch of beggars, singing and screaming with laughter.
“To your health!”
And yours, you drunken slime. No, just in his head, nothing to alert them.
Making his way out of the pub he saw children, filthy and reeking of the gutter. Dirty little guttersnipes. Always a dirt-encrusted hand flung out at him. “Please guv—ain’t you got a penny? Just for a spot somewhere. . . ”
Sometimes he’d fling them a penny just to watch them scamper and fight with one another. Not children to him, just younger rats: vermin all.
Yet despite his contempt he was enjoying his surroundings. Yes, he reasoned—he had begun to like the place. How foolish he was not to have seen its many assets earlier.
It was fun wallowing in its iniquitous debauchery, walking the streets like God. “The hand of God shall strike down the corruption that poisons the vineyard!”
Perhaps not in the Bible but it could have been!
The later it got the less people there were about. Ordinary souls went home; those that didn’t were what he wanted. Prey.
He had been choosey that night he killed. There were, after all, several he had thought suitable for dispatch. But then he spotted HER, his chosen.You are the first but not the last, mind. Not the last by any means.
She had been walking along Whitechapel Road, when he began following her. She glanced over her shoulder a few times. Then finally when she realized she was being followed she stopped.
He knew she’d be smiling. “Why, ain’t you the gent?” She had sized him up, drunk as she was. “Three pennies and you can do what you like for as long as you like. Then I’ll do it to you.”
He smiled and nodded. Then he made a courtly gesture for her to lead the way. Buck’s Row.
She began to ready herself. While she was in the process of hiking her skirt up, he grabbed her by the throat. She tried to scream, but with his fingers on her throat she could only gasp. Still, she put up a good struggle, kicking and trying to free herself.
He held her fast. “It’s time now. . . ”
He was wondering if she heard him say that. Not that it would have mattered. Still, he wondered.
“It’s time for Mr. Rough and Ready to go to work.”
She knew. He saw her eyes widen—the light wasn’t good but he could just make out the look of terror in her eyes. She trembled with the first slice—but he kept on slicing—something like a sexual thrill was flowing over him, causing him
to shudder. Now for the first time in his life he felt himself harden. Irony
He smiled. He could cry with joy later. There wasn’t time now. Just time to shudder and pant and keep slicing. The feeling eased. He stopped. It was time to leave. He only glanced down at her once. Just a quick glance but he tried so hard to remember everything so he could recall it later..."
(End of Excerpt)
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