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Bare Hands Witness

ian-espinosa-177961.jpg (6000×4000)


This piece has been inspired by this photo and : http://www.creativewritingink.co.uk/resources/writing-prompts/

The dirt on my hands is thick, black, mucky and rancid. I have buried her with my bare hands scrapping the dirt to cover the lifeless body. I look at my hands the only witness to my crime as they stare at me but I don't feel remorse, its the third or forth time that I have done this.

The lifeless body is beneath me, rotting away as I stand on it and she was beautiful and I like my other prey charmed her with my tails of fame not that I have had any. But the young women always seem to believe me as they say I am handsome, I am called ' pretty boy' as they can't seem to resist my black hair and tall stride that I have. I have that natural look which makes me seem vulnerable and I lure them like a cheese on a mouse trap to their end.

These hands will be washed, with no tale or mark neither with the girl who is now beneath me, all the newspapers say is 'another girl has gone missing' but they never discover why or how as I don't look the part of what they call a 'killer'. I work as a community support officer in my spare time so I am at no where considered a suspect.

The dirt smells on my hands of deterioration but I feel control, that power of taking a life away and doing it slowly so I can stare at the eyes of my victim. Another one below me in the depths of the bosom of the Earth, now I will again seek my next target.


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