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Lips of Red, Eyes of Blue

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Lips of Red, Eyes of Blue03:35

Lips of Red, Eyes of Blue

She lay, wonderfully, morbidly still, sanctified in the crimson holiness she once selfishly kept inside her own tarnished veins. Her body was unnaturally wrapped around the iron gates that guarded her feet from the monsters lurking beneath the white duster. The youthful flush of her cheeks had faded like a rose in the first frost, capturing its beauty beneath a pallid layer of blue ice. Her body was broken, only slowly beginning to writhe when he placed his hands upon her. He brought his father’s straight razor to his lips, shushing her into silence before stripping off his belt and looping it around a bobbing Adam’s apple— the signature of his new found manhood. A moan escaped paling lips as he pulled the worn leather tight, steadying his manic blue eyes as he indulged in the sweet ecstasy before him.

Lightly tracing the razor across his bared chest, he pulled the girl to him, finding pleasure in the fragility of her tiny frame. With a jerk of her golden hair, the small child’s head lolled back, exposing the tender flesh beneath. Compulsively, the young man slid the razor across the porcelain column and watched as the child choked for the stinging air that danced upon her sweet lips. He was transfixed by the motion of the tiny mouth, opening and closing. It reminded him of the pink flowers he saw bloom every spring in the church yard; the way the petals would dance in the warm breeze. He closed his eyes, engraving the poetic image deep into the frayed tendrils of his mind, as threw her back onto the bedding and began to watch the sweet metamorphosis of death become her.

His hands slid down the red painted canvas of her night gown. How sweet she looked. Her little blue eyes lying open in their glassy, pearly beauty. He bowed his head down, their noses touching, drinking in the last few precious moments of her exquisite scent—his wonderful ambrosia.

‘They were always much more beautiful in the next state of being,’ he thought as he stood, picked his frock from floor, and began to walk toward the door. His belt still dangling from around his neck as he buttoned his shirt and pressed the razor into his pocket.

“Good night little sister,” he whispered, as his lips twitched into a smile.

“Now it’s time to tuck mother in.”