He wasn't suppose to look surprised.

This filthy begger had been perched at this alley every day for years. I passed him every day; everyone passed him every day. Everyone turned a blind eye, avoiding his pleas like the plague. These rich and powerful people shying away from a peon, disgusting. It needed to be remedied.

The idea started as a passing thought, a daydream to occupy the time during useless meetings. For months it had consumed me. I dreamt of it many times. I always imagined fear in his eyes, an ignored plea for mercy upon his lips.

The damn vagabond was suppose to be afraid. He was suppose to look at me like Death incarnate, God almighty!

HE WASN'T SUPPOSE TO LOOK SURPRISED!

I did everything right. Everything! I bought the gun with cash out of state. I rented a car under a fake name in a different city and parked it a block away. It had a license plate I stole from a junkyard. I was prepared. And he looks at me in mere surprise! Gah!

Did he not realize how much effort I put into that moment? Did he not realize the time I spent on his worthless life?

He just sat there, cup still outstretched begging for change. The pistol and his life rested in my hands. His lips formed a perfect 'o', eyebrows raised. Not what I imagined.

The rush faded. I almost didnt pull the trigger, almost. I shot him more out of obligation than hate. After all, he had seen my face. I emptied the entire damn clip into him with all the rush and joy of taking out the smelly garbage.

Well laid plans led me away free and clear. I walked past the alley the very next day, cops and yellow tape marked the place. I paused like so many others to see the scene. A detective picked up the a bullet casing, examining it in morning light.

"I think there is a print." he said.

A cold hand clutched my heart. My breath grew shallow and my eyes widened in alarm. I turned to walk away shaking my head in disgust. I wasn't suppose to look afraid.

<font face="Arial" size="6" color="D1D0CE"> we are old and afraid, </font>

<font face="Arial" size="5" color="C1C1C1"> ugly and weak, </font>

<font face="Arial" size="4" color="B6B6B4"> inadequate, impaired, </font>

<font face="Arial" size="3" color="837E7C">lost, and fatigued</font>

—<font face="Arial" size="5" color="red">average</font>—

If he were to die

(just supposing so)

Say if he were Dead

(further as it were)

Contemplating so

(whither should he go?)

A knob reflection

(index on the door)

Hovering on the brink of Consciousness...

Inebriated by fresh smell

of every new dream,

scent lingers as its wafts

softly past my senses,

sensual memories adopted

from the strength of the sun.

Love’s chemistry embellishes

like night blooming jasmine

clinging to perfumed folds,

slipping into your essence.

Balm of orange wine sunsets

tucked under my pillow

as I breath fibers of you

in pink petal skin.

Your bouquet leans

on my heart

until I let it in.

Hunger arises

at musky scent

of dark chocolate,

freshly laundered sheets

and sweet ozone rain.

Touched emotions

awaken my spring,

sweet potion of locked bodies

awakens incense of need.

During my first undercover assignment, I was excited to find that I must go into a pet shop and find out why all the pets sold to customers were ailing.

“Are these animals healthy?” I mouthed. Imagine my surprise when I was grabbed and locked up in a cramped room.

Knowing my police buddies would notice I was missing soon, I was relieved when I saw blue uniforms of my comrades through the key hole. After the door was opened, I limped stiffly toward their welcome faces.

“This golden retriever is the best K-9 unit we’ve ever had,” they said.

patter patter patter patter patter

patter patter patter patter

patter patter patter

patter patter

patter

pat pat pat pat

pat...

...pat...

...pat.

_____

"I saw you looking at me." Her eyes were half lidded, smiling. Thick with want.

"Oh, did you now?"

"Mmm. Now you owe me a drink."

"Is that how it works?" He wasn't feigning disinterest. He was genuinely apathetic.

"Well. Where I'm from, gentlemen don't typically stare, and if they're caught, they buy ladies drinks."

"I'll let you know when I spot either a gentleman or a lady, then. Maybe we can ask them if that's true."

"Aha! You have jokes?"

"You're laughing, so apparently I do."

"I'm going to sit here." She settled her expensive purse in her lap and took the bar stool next to him.

"Please do." He admired her shapely thighs as subtly as he could, as he tipped his glass.

"You're going to order me a drink. Preferably something with whiskey in it."

"I'll consider it."

"Maybe I should just take yours." He'd placed his scotch on the mahogany of the bar.

"Help yourself."

"I hope you don't mind lipstick on the rim." She smiled as she sipped his cocktail.

"Where else were you planning to leave it?"

"The night is young."  She winked at him.  "I'm Eden."

He shook her hand, "Patrick." His grin was obvious as the tab was settled.

_____

pat

_____

"Show me."

"I don't think you're ready for that. We've only just met." Laughter danced at the edges of his words.

"Do you always assume to know best, when it comes to us poor little women?"

"Of course not. But I know this game. And you are not ready."

"Are you going to give me a speech about trust and limits and safewords?"

"I don't give speeches. Unless soliloquies count."

"What about safewords?"

"Try, 'stop,' or 'I don't like that.' I find those work well."

"Do you actually listen?"

"Will you actually speak?"

"I doubt it. I think I can handle anything you can dish, little man."

"Don't try to taunt me. I don't play that way."

"Or what?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Or I can leave. If I wanted children, I'd have them. I have no patience for childish behavior, especially in the bedroom."

"You just think you're the cat's ass, don't you?" Her bratty tendencies had been stopped cold.

"No. I just know how I like to play. I can tell that you simply are not ready."

"Try me." Her defiance was fierce, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

_____

pat

pat

_____

Her apartment was spacious and very high-end. Rising above the city, the mists that hung in the sky clung to her bedroom windows, just as she clung to her demands and assertions. The skyline seemed to be just an arm's reach away as his breath fogged the glass.

Turning away from the sights of the city, he faced the sights of his evening.

She stretched out on the eight-thousand dollar mattress, one arm dangled over the edge as it stretched below a pillow. Her face was tranquil, smiling, and her eyes were closed.

Long and pale, she was once a stunningly beautiful woman. She was old enough to be successful, but young enough to clutch the memory of being fashionably pretty. There was a bitterness about her; not quite a desperation, but an obvious need to be accepted.

She absolutely exuded the need to win. She demanded her desires, and her demands were usually met.

To her, he was a conquest. An adventure. A notch for her antique bedpost.

He smiled, remembering the sounds of those bedposts drumming off the wall of the condo; a bass to her alto, both singing along sweetly to his tune.

She may be a star performer, but he was ever the maestro.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen?" he asked, walking past her and navigating their strewn clothes. His bare feet slapped warmed marble floors.

She continued to smile. Apparently, she had nodded off to sleep.

"I'll take that as a no, then. If you don't mind, I'm going to clean up a little and grab a drink." While gathering dishes, he thought he heard her sigh. Fine china and antique sterling made for interesting and creative games; carefully, he balanced these improvised toys along with discarded condoms, making his way out of the room.

Whistling, he found what he was looking for beneath a bathroom sink, and he began to leave the house in better condition than when he found it.

Mostly.

_____

pat

_____

"What's that?"

"Is that hesitation in your voice, girl?" He played to her defiance, while demeaning her to keep her off balance.

"Absolutely not! What do you plan to do with it? I think I like where this is going." You won't.

"I think you liked where I just went." He grinned like he was supposed to do.

"Oh, god, you're making me blush." You're easy.

"Red looks good on you." He silently congratulated himself on the well placed compliment; flattering words were exactly what she expected.

"I'm sure you say that to all the ladies." Sometimes I say nothing at all.

"No. I don't." He was sincere when he said that.

"I believe you, actually." He knew he had her from the moment she sat down at the bar.

"Good. You should." If she only knew what he was thinking.

"So what are you going to do with that?" Hide it.

"What would you like me to do with it?" You were never ready.

"Mmmm. Surprise me." Oh, it will be surprising.

Entering her, pinning her down, Eden smiled as he made her come again.

Soon after, he made her look good in red.

_____

pat

_____

The Wüsthof chef's knife slid easily back into her butcher block, after a thorough bleaching. He walked back into her bedroom.

She still had the ghost of a smile, with arm stretched over the side of the bed.

pat

Drips, running from brachial artery down off of fingertips, had all but stopped. What her heart had begun, gravity had helped finish.

Crimson splashed the marble beneath her bedsheets, and they, too, held vermilion court in that silent chamber.

Patrick Bateman calmly donned his charcoal Valentino suit, carefully folding the tie and placing it in his coat pocket. "Hip to Be Square" began playing on his Sony Walkman.

He could finally relax.

There once was a little girl,

Who was terrified of the monsters,

Living under her bed.

Her parents told her,

"Honey, these monsters,

They just don't exist."

But the girl knew the truth,

Even if her parents didn't believe her.

So night after night,

When her parents turned out the lights,

The girl would cower beneath the covers,

Using them as protection.

For if she couldn't see the monsters,

They couldn't see her, right?

From the safety of her covers,

She would watch the black shadows dance across her room,

And hear their growling voices,

As they spoke to each other.

Finally one night she couldn't take it anymore.

With her eyes shut,

She threw the covers off and screamed,

"Leave me alone!

Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

When she opened her eyes,

She saw monsters so giant,

They could eat three of her for breakfast.

She saw monsters so hairy,

They might as well have been hair balls from a cat.

She saw monsters with teeth so big and sharp,

They could easily have torn her to pieces.

Yet, she still wanted her answer,

So one of the monsters steps forward,

Looks her dead in the eye,

And says,

"Because you still believe in us.

Not only that, but you're still scared of us."

The little girl cocks her head to the side,

Waiting for a better explanation.

The monster continues,

"As you grow up,

You learn that us monsters under your bed,

Aren't the scariest things in the world.

You find new fears,

And new monsters.

Ones that aren't so easy to see,

That can hide in broad daylight.

Now that you aren't scared of us anymore,

We must go find another child,

Who's still scared of  us monsters under their bed."

With that the monsters leave,

And the little girl is alone,

Just like she asked.

Except, in the corner of her room,

Stands a strange man.

Before she can scream,

He whisks her away,

Out of the safety of her warm house,

And into the cold, foreboding night.

This is the night when the little girl,

Learned of other monsters living in this world.