I set in my deerstand--- over looking the lake behind the house--- watching the eastern sky for the coming sunrise, it was the start of the longest day of the year: a day that to most never seems to end, it will be a few hours still until I climb down stepping out into the sunshine. Every year, on the anniversary of the day I first saw her, I would go early to the banks and wait for her to appear in the morning halo;drinking coffee with Irish cream added while reminiscing on an event that happened many summers ago.
The lake was her home. She was more apart of the water than falling rain drops that migraines to the area during monsoon season. It gave her a life that was peaceful and innocent.
I left my cabin while smoke still tickled the hairs on the water: fog was her solstice. It added an illusion of the little one that was not an allusion ....
I will never forget the first time I saw her. She played in the sallow, near the bank just downhill from my resting spot under the old sycamore amongst the red ferns, swimming laps: coursing my blood. And here she was again.
From the second I laid eyes on her I wanted her. I wanted to make her mine. She was going to be my trophy. I watched the child grow up. For years I dreamt about how I was to have my way with her. How I would take her life.
Today was going to be the day.
I spent all night long preparing for the time at hand: tied my strongest cords, to bond her with, so she could not shake away from my hands; sharpened my finest knifes, one to cut her open and remove all organs the other to remove her head, that will prepare my meal; weaved the net to catch her up in. I added ice to the cooler I will be keeping her in until I remove the bones.
Sun rays broke the horizon into an array of colors only heaven held the skills to paint. Coffee laid lukewarm in an almost untouched mug. Birds flew cashing the night before away to never return. And she swam.
The water engulfed her skin: seasoning it naturally with sea salt. I watched. I watched. I waited. My mouth watered. I could almost already taste her. As I dreamt about how I was going to carve her and mount her skeleton on the wall wearing the same bathing suit she had on the first day our paths crossed.
I eased up to the water's edge, untied the same boat I had when she swam in to my heart, and set sail.
In the past I have tricked her into feeling safe with me near: to the point of kissing my hands in the water. She had grown accustomed to me bringing her breakfast and dinner. Others like her that I have cut up and devoured over time. But she would not be like the rest: she would not set in the deep freezer for long. Only enough time will be able to pass to have her steaks and fillet marinated just right.
Today I will have her come to me.
She crosses in front, lifting her head out of the lake, and almost gives me a smile. Years of swimming every day have grown her breast into a seduction I crave. I will have them ready to enjoy before her brains realize that she is lifeless.
I set on the porch looking out into the sunset and re-taste her flesh on my lips. She went well with red wine. Her breast cooked well... Something about the milk aroused my tongue and lips.
It has been a few hours since I grabbed her and pulled her out of the chilly hydration. The sun was going down.
She swam up. I gave her the bread and cheese from my breakfast sandwich. We spoke different languages but she never said anything I didn't know the answer to. Her eyes had always been the asker of the only question her lips could never ask.
Are you going to Kill Me?
If only she knew.
Years of experience, learning her, and tricks to gain access to her trust had brought the day of my life to be able to get fullfilled. I lured her in. As she got close I casted my net, pulled the ends tie around her, and dug her into the boat. I shoved a spike down her throat and out of the neck, tied it with the rope to the right side of the boat and pulled her through the waves.
At shore I threw her on ice in the chest I brought especially for those like her who have been here before her. And headed home.
I removed the old bathing suit, sheets of silver and blue, and ran my olive oiled hands along her naked body. I placed the tip of the blade under her head, and added just enough pressure on the steel to punctual the vein to her heart, without hesitation; without making her feel pain. Her throat took it as if butter in the sun. She did not fight. No grasping for air.
I cut from her bones and muscles every ounce of meat. It was when I cut out her reproduction system I discovered that she was pregnant.
I took the unborn children and added them to a pot. Poured in milk and honey. A pinch of rosemary and garlic. Added a few more infusions before bringing to a slow boiling point.
Her heart I ate raw. Before she drew the last breath her heart was beating in my hand. I made a dish of every organ. I dried out her skin and reattached it to the bones before I hung them over my fireplace. With a plaque to commemorate the occasion.
It was the best fish I had ever ate.