Murder's cove

General_Paul · Post by **General_Paul** » 2004-09-19 11:12pm

Hey,

General paul here, um, this is the beginning of a story that I started a few weeks back, its graphic...sexual, and violent. So, if you take offense to this, please don't read on. But, for those who feel they can handle it, I give you the first chapter of Murder's Cove (Working title:A summer's long wind..."

P.S: I know that my writing may not be as refined as it should be...but this is just a first draft, and i wanted to get my ideas down onto paper, so if you can hold back the total flames, and just critique my plot, and word useage, I'd be most appreciative, thanks!

Prologue: July 7, 1978

He surveyed his work. The woman sat bathed in the twilight, her body glistening with the sweat of the hours of passion that had proceeded what he was about to do. He looked down at her content face, her cute button nose contrasted with her long, flowing blonde hair. Her green eyes had shown him the heights of passion that he brought her, and she gave equally. He could see her chest rising and falling with each passing moment, her breasts moving ever so slightly. His arm lay draped around her waist, almost touching her buttocks, only she knew how much passion had poured forth from his loins.

He had seen her at the strawberry festival, moving through the crowds with a group of friends dressed in bell bottoms and halter tops. Her beauty took him back for a second, and made him blush with envy when he saw her with a friend, holding his hand, and whispering into his left ear. His mind told him to keep away, because she’d never go for him, but his body told him to go and speak with her. He remembered the way that she looked at him, when he sat down at her table, and introduced himself. She laughed at his corny jokes, and he equally laughed when she tried to use one. By the time that the man had come around, and handed her a drink, she was already engrossed in conversation with the stranger.

By the end of the night, she had come back to his place, and had experienced hours of pure passion. Of unadulterated love, of love with no bounds, and with no one to get in their way, only they would know what had happened. The urges couldn’t be denied anymore. “Come on… snap out of it… this will pass, will it?” His mind was racing a thousand miles a second, he looked down at her again, not wanting to do what he was about to do, not out of spite, or out of anger, but out of urges that he could not ignore, that were too powerful to fight anymore. He stood up, and walked into his bathroom.

His mirror showed his eyes, his dark brown eyes, showing little emotion, unless he wanted them to. He gave himself the once over in the mirror, his penis was still partially hard from the hours that had preceded this act. He reached in, and pulled out a hypodermic needle. He reached around again, and felt a plastic IV drip. He then pulled out the plastic tube, and hooked it all up. He walked into the room, and felt pity and sadness. He realized that if he didn’t do this soon, then she’d awake, and he would no longer be able to do it. He looked longingly at her once again, almost wishing that the urge would go away, and stuck the needle in.

For an hour, he watched the IV drip down to nothing, he had dressed himself, and readied his tools. He watched her breathing slow down, and finally stop all together. He reached down, and felt for her pulse. He felt none. It was now time to do his work. He reached over, and picked up a small blade, a surgical scalpel, and began to cut along her arm. He could see the blood pooling in the cut. He felt sadness now, as he proceeded to cut more, then, the pity took hold, and he stopped all together. He dropped the scalpel, and looked at her. He wanted for her to awake, so that they could make passionate love again, but he knew that the IV had done its trick. He knew what had happened was for the best.

He reached down again, and picked up a butcher’s knife, and proceeded to cut into her. Slowly he cut, methodically, he took his time, making the right incisions where they needed to be finally, his work was done, and he surveyed the work. Suddenly, he saw a muscle spasm, but it was fleeting, because as soon as it came, it went. He looked at her again, longing to place himself within her warmth, to feel her convulsing on him, and finally give into the heights of passion, and have the waves of orgasms take effect. He unzipped his pants, placed his hand upon his crotch, and proceeded to bring himself to some small height of passion, finally giving into the orgasm himself. He looked down at his hands, covered now in blood, and semen.

His hands felt crusty, and cold. The crusty sperm and blood was washed off easily, but the coldness within his heart would not go away soon. He walked over to the closet, and grabbed a white sheet, and wrapped her body in it. He sewed it together, and cut a lock of her hair off, so as to remember her. He brought the hair up to his nose, and smelled it. It smelled of peaches, and of sweat. A single tear dropped from his left eye, before he picked her body up, and ever so gently placed it in the back of his pickup truck. He looked down at her body as he drove down the Vashon highway, making his way to the south ferry dock. He turned on the radio, and listened to some chatter while he drove at ever increasing speeds to the dumping area. He found the area deserted, “A good thing” he thought.

He brought the truck to a stop, and looked down at her body, lifeless, and oozing blood from every cut, he felt the wave of sadness come over him again. He wouldn’t back out now; nothing was going to stop this. He grabbed her body, naked all except for the sheet that was covering her, and began the walk down to the water. He reached into his pocket, and grabbed the Swiss army knife that he constantly carried, and proceeded to cut off all the loose strings. When he reached the water’s edge, his red plaid shirt was stained with crimson, the green stripes showed no sign of their former glory. He placed the body underneath the ferry dock, above the tide zones, where someone would see it.

He took one last look at her, he felt sadness, but joy all at the same time. He ran back to his truck, and drove off, leaving her body there, hoping that someone would find it, and at least give her a proper burial. He then turned up the music; Led Zeppelin filled the cab of the pickup truck, as he drove away from the crime, hoping that it was all over.

Chapter 1

July 1, 2003