Such a sad story... Of course this will
be a sad story. Of course it will be
something vile, coming from me. It is
a story about a girl, no, a woman named
Isabelle.

She died last night. She was murdered in
her red and pink lingerie. Her panties were
around her ankles, her eyes were listless
and empty. Her lips painted a thick red with
lip stick. Her thin see through robe was not
so see through with her blood covering it.
Her hair was in a fray about her head like
a halo. Her skin was still warm, despite the
lack of blood flow.

She died last night, the little whore. She,
who flirted with men while I watched. She
who teased me in the coffee shop. Her lips
were curved in a smile the morning before
she died. Why? Because I offered to take
her to dinner.

"Why, yes, I will go to dinner with you,"
she had said. She seemed over all delighted
I was as well. She was so beautiful with her
naturally tanned skin and soft dark brown hair.
Dead God, was she a sight! Oh how I longed
to look into her bright green eyes. Oh how I
wished to run my fingers down her skin.

Dinner was nice. We went to a local Sicilian
parlor where we had some rather delicious
courses. I offered her dessert. She offered
something else entirely. Oh, how I was glad
she had invited me to stay.

He soft skin, I touched it. My fingers, rough
from my arduous labors, were slight against
such skin that was smooth as hers.

Isabelle was her name, Isabelle the Whore.
We made love, or what I called made love.
She asked for a glass of water, I fetched it.
Then I could not help but look back at her.
I could not help but see her from behind.
Isabelle, she was no longer beautiful to me.
No... She was no longer anything to me but
what she made of herself in that bed with me.

Isabelle was brushing her hair when I did not
bring her that glass of water. Isabelle was
smiling when she turned to see what was in
my hand.

She did not smile after that. Not after I let the
blade cut through her womb. Not after I let tremors
pass through my arm at least twelve times.

I killed Isabelle the Whore tonight, because she
was a witness to my crimes. She did not know me,
she knew of me, she saw my back as I strangled that
child.

Isabelle, was a whore no more.