Beautiful Bloodshed

August 27, 2011
By DamagedArtist BRONZE, Tracy, California
DamagedArtist BRONZE, Tracy, California
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I open at the close"--Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Jack the Ripper was on the prowl again. The five canonical women he had brutally murdered were not enough to fulfill his insatiable desire for blood. He lusted for more.

Suddenly, he was alerted by a small, movement out of the corner of his peripheral vision. He spun around, trustworthy dagger clenched in his fist. But alas, it was only a large rat scurrying down the deserted streets of Whitechapel, London.

The Ripper sighed wearily. What was he to do now? The police had already posted signs proclaiming his heinous, grotesque crimes. Now he smiled grimly to himself. The Ripper lived for attention…but the problem was, how much longer could he play this game without getting caught?

He slunk back into the shadows to contemplate his dire situation further. He could, of course, visit one of the many brothels that marched down the streets of Whitechapel. The Ripper quickly dismissed the idea: far too mundane and generic to suit his purposes. He needed something fresh…something new…and fast.

The Ripper adjusted his top hat and checked his pocket watch. 4 o’clock. Of course. Everyone was having tea, unless they were too busy at the brothels. It seemed that he had no choice. He would have to indulge in a killing spree.

He strode up to the nearest house. He knew this house fairly well; for days now he had been observing the comings and goings of its many inhabitants. Fortunately, the vast majority of the household appeared to be female. He licked his lips in anticipation. This was going to be a piece of cake.

The Ripper lifted the heavy brass door knocker engraved with prancing lions, and was about to bang on the scratched door, when the door opened by itself and a beautiful, fashionably dressed young lady stumbled outside. She promptly tripped over her voluminous petticoats and fell face down into a puddle of dirty dishwater pooling beneath a second story window.

The kill, the Ripper thought, and immediately slit the girl’s throat, then proceeded to rip off the cumbersome layers of clothing that prevented him from slicing apart her tender flesh with his trusty dagger. As he methodically performed laceration after laceration, the Ripper laughed manically, reveling in the beauty of the long awaited bloodshed. Now that he had successfully gouged his way through the many layers of skin that protected her internal organs, the Ripper reached a gloved hand into the cavity and carefully scooped out the heart. He carelessly shoved it into his coat pocket and—

“IT’S JACK THE RIPPER!” the cry reverberated through the formerly deserted streets. “HE’S HERE!”

The Ripper immediately scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as his sluggish feet would carry him. He managed to reach the closest alleyway before a large club smashed into his head.

“Didn’t think you’d be caught, didja?” an ice cold voice sneered into his ear. The Ripper’s head was twisted around to face a dashing gentleman with eyes of stone. At the moment, they were fixed on him in a take-no-prisoners stare. “You impundent rascal…”

He grabbed the Ripper by the scruff of the neck and roared, ”Wot made you do it, eh?”

The Ripper, now completely devoid of energy, managed to muster up a faint “I just wanted to have fun…”

“Fun? You want fun, matey? Go find a nice prostitute for yerself, then.” The gentleman shook Ripper again. “But fer now, let’s see wot you’ve got to say for yerself at the police station.”

A mob of angry plebeians followed the Ripper and his escort to the police station, pelting Ripper with filth and insults. As they reached the wrought iron gates that preceded the imposing building that would ultimately seal his fate, Ripper fainted…

He woke up chained to a hospital bed with an attractive nurse hovering over him. “Pray tell, where am I?"

“You have been confined to the Bedlam Royal Hospital.” the kindly nurse answered. She tenderly mopped the sweat from his beading forehead and stuck a mercury thermometer in his gaping mouth. “For life,” she added, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“For…life?” the Ripper asked in disbelief. More beads of sweat appeared on his wrinkled brow.

The nurse merely nodded and walked away. Ripper’s eyes focused on her shape, so noticeable under the thin uniform, and immediately began concocting plans to escape the asylum.

A week later, Jack the Ripper escaped his prison and indulged in a killing spree at the Bedlam Royal Hospital. He was never found again.

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