Paste. Heart. Red. Et Cetera.

Under the blood red of the moon, I am faced with my prey. I can vaguely remember her screams. The hissed glory of pain when she clawed my skin, desperate for freedom as I held her so close her very lungs collapsed from all the pressure. You did say you like some aggression to your lover, didn't you?

It's dark, out. There's no one around for miles. I dragged you here to end you. I did. From my car. Didn't I? It's all so hazy. There's a ringing in my ears as I straddle your still hips, frozen, waiting for a response. Waiting for my brain to tell me what to do next.

But I already know what's coming. It won't be pretty.

I vaguely remember the feeling of a period as I begin to claw my way - in turn - into you. I can remember the way it takes over my body, consumes me in irritation and discomfort. The way it feels incorrect. I suppose your presence on this Earth felt as wrong to me as this same thing. Perhaps the moon is the colour of my hands, tonight, because it was fated so. A guiding light from a friend I cannot see.

My hands tremble as I dig past your skin. You were always so thin, so pretty despite how harsh and cold you were (you're the most frigid you've ever been now). So this isn't as hard as it should be. My hands are screaming from the exertion but I won't stop digging. Past skin and muscle and bone. It feels akin to ripping apart a nice, big chunk of celebratory roast chicken. It feels just as satisfying when I finally make it to your heart.

I'm covered in blood, now. It's yours. I almost feel like I must be drowning in it. It makes me think of you, triggering utter disgust, until I realise it is only a kind reminder that you are gone now. Defeated. Usurped. Literally beneath me and soon to be even deeper under if I have anything to say about it.

I gaze silently upon my masterpiece as I finally find the organ I've been looking for beneath broken pieces of your bone, muscle fibers set aside. You look like you've been feasted upon by a wild animal. And this gives me an idea - albeit a strange one. Still. Giving into my desires has led me here and I won't deny myself my piece of madness now that it has finally begun.

Carefully, I reach into the cavity beyond all your ruined layers. Your heart sits quiet and wet in my open palms. If I concentrate, I can almost feel the dead, empty thing throbbing within you. I can imagine what would have happened if I let myself do this sooner. If I had just let it all go.

The stars wink down at me. I take in a deep breath. The field is humid from rain. It mingles with the earth's pastoral scent, mingles with the tangy iron of your blood, sends delighted shivers down my spine. Oh, you... If only you could see this. If only you could know what your cruelty would help me... Become.

My gaze returns to your heart. Without another moment of hesitation, I bite down on it. It tastes as raw meat should. Yet, I am met with a sweetness because of what I have done to earn it. The texture dances around my tongue and I find myself wanting to throw up the spongy substance. I don't. I swallow. I slip it into a zip lock bag, too. Perhaps it'll serve me better cooked. Giving into primal urges was certainly exciting but I still retain some of my civility, I assure you.

You stare at me, your eyes widened with the fear of a dead woman. I wonder if you saw the fear in mine when you did what you did. I wonder if it would have mattered to you at all, either way. If knowing how terrified I was would have changed anything. I guess we'll never know.

Well? Am I as dirty as you remembered? As disgusting? Did you loathe me as much while I stole away your every last breath as you did when you and I were in that room, together? I suppose it doesn't matter, now. You're a corpse, ruined beyond recognition. I'll grind your pretty face into a paste too, just for the laughs of it. You will be buried alongside whatever stone I choose.

And you will be forgotten.

Don't worry too much about your heart. I'll take very precious care of it. You never had one, anyway.