Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The Most Interesting Man in the World, Pt. 1

Hello again, my dears. I’m sorry I haven’t had an opportunity to update all of you on my status recently, but I’ve been rather frightfully busy. After recovering from my indisposition, Mr. Roye and I travelled south once more, mostly at night so as to avoid any police officers or federal agents who might still be watching us. Our progression was impeded several times by Mr. Roye’s increasingly annoying insistence on bathroom breaks. What was I to do, my dears? I appreciated the little man’s assistance in facilitating my escape, but he was rapidly becoming a colossal nuisance. Fortunately, we happened to be driving near a rail line that appeared to be in regular and heavy use, as I’d seen at least four trains pass by in the last ten minutes.

I pulled the Mustang off the road, parking rather near the train tracks, but taking precautions to keep the car itself concealed within a stand of trees. Mr. Roye followed me out of the vehicle, staying on my heels as I walked over to the tracks. He looked so pathetic, following me around like a small dog. I had neither the time nor the inclination to perform a physical examination of his body, so this would have to do.

“What are we doing here, Mistress?” he asked, his voice high and irritating. I shook my head, wincing slightly at the buzzing his voice had left inside my skull.

“Getting rid of a problem, dear.”

Mr. Roye appeared rather confused at this (evidence of a low level of mental acuity, most likely). I saw no point in drawing things out any further. Without further hesitation I picked up two small rocks, throwing each one hard enough to shatter one of his femurs. As he collapsed I stomped on each of his humeri, shattering his upper arms and ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to pull himself off the tracks. The vibrations of the rails under my feet told me that another train was already on its way, coming rather fast by the feel of it. Mr. Roye looked up at me, his expression agonized and bewildered.

“Mistress…I don’t understand…”

I turned and walked back to the car, ignoring Mr. Roye’s weak cries for forgiveness and aid. As I slipped into the driver’s seat, his dismayed wails were silenced with a wet crunching noise. The train’s conductor had never seen his body, and had run over the late Mr. Roye without so much as slowing down. I waited until the train’s engine was out of sight, then restarted the Mustang and headed for the nearest highway. My thoughts were racing, an unusual situation for me. I’d just killed a man, not for medical examination, but simply because he was in my way. He had been a rather devoted disciple of mine, actually. An admirer. Not a threat. Removing the FBI agents who had been holding me was one thing. This was…wrong. I had no idea why I’d done it. Something deep inside me was telling me that with this killing, I had crossed an invisible line. Why was I feeling this way? I had killed plenty of people before. Everybody had to die sometime, after all, so why did it matter if I brought that time around somewhat sooner?

This time was different because it was unnecessary. I could’ve left him in a town. He wouldn’t have told anyone about me; he was too devoted for that. Something…something had pushed me to end him. Something not a true part of me. I’m not a murderer. I’m not psychotic. I don’t go around killing people willy-nilly like that. Maybe…maybe I’m doing something wrong. Maybe this isn’t what I’m meant to do. I don’t know.

In any case, as the sun was rising I found that I’d been driving on autopilot all night. I was somewhere in western Tennessee, outside a Christian youth camp. It was quite a sizable compound, and very well-kept. It was also full of trees, a fact I approved of as the summer sun was giving me quite a headache even through my glasses. I parked the Mustang near the gates, stepping out and striding through the camp’s front gates. No one seemed to think I was out of place, despite all of them (staff and clients) wearing blue jeans and white shirts, while I was in my preferred immaculate three-piece suit and tie. I followed the nagging attraction in my mind, which led me through the camp to a storage area in the very rear. Amidst the farm implements and sports equipment were a row of small sheds, each with a tin roof and whitewashed sides. I could hear crying from a few of them, a fact which momentarily bothered me until I realized that the pulling feeling was leading me toward the one on the end. I slid open the viewing port in this shed’s door, not at all surprised to find a strapping young man inside. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes, very chiseled features, and was VERY well-built. He looked up as I looked in. I smiled slightly, amused.

“Now, what could you have done to land yourself in a place like this, dear?”

The boy stared at me, something in his eyes seeming dead already. His reply was even and toneless. “I raped my bunkmate. He was annoying me and needed to learn how the hierarchy works.”

I liked this boy already. I smiled, glancing at the flimsy lock holding the shed door shut. “Well, dear, let’s get you out of there.”


I’m afraid I need to take care of a thing or two, dears. I will post the second half of my account tomorrow. Ta ta for now.


  1. Oh joy. Your companion is a rapist now?

    Well, at least we could have a good evening before murderising me...

  2. ... ANOTHER FUCKING RAPIST. WHERE DO THESE ASSHOLES KEEP COMING FROM. I swear to God this guy pisses me off and I know NOTHING about him.

  3. Morningstar, maybe you should devote your energy and murderous tendencies to ridding the world of rapists. It would certainly be more helpful (and satisfying) than what you're doing now.

  4. You know, that might actually work.