Her skin was melted wax. Lavished, dripping in a silky allure making my brain cramp up. Never had I seen a woman with more content than the woman standing down the aisle, basket in hand, picking out the perfect book to bring home. What was she planning to do with that book? Was she planning to sit up late at night and read the inky words by candlelight? Was she planning to leave it on her bookshelf for months until it collected enough dust to catch her attention? Was she planning to take pen to paper, annotating insignificant thoughts within the margins of the page, adding to the author’s work? Was she planning to read it all in one night, struggling to stay awake as her eyes turn to irritating weights?

She ran her calloused hands over the cover examining its rough texture. Who knew a book could look so elderly yet so compelling–as if it was whispering for her to read it? But the other question is what happened to her hands? What did her past entail which caused her hands to be so bark-like? So rough and yet so fragile?

Her brows were knitted down near her eyes. I could see the gears in her brain rotating as she checked the price and promptly placed the book back on the shelf. A flash of disappointment darted across her delicate face.

A money concern.

Money is always an issue. People sometimes have to get creative to make enough to eat, but luckily for me, I got a job recently. A job that this woman is ignorant to, but is a necessity in.

She slid the book back on the shelf.

The shelves were large and towering. They created walls around us, trapping us inside. The room was dimly lit. The store was empty. It was just me and her.

Perfect.

Did she know that I was there? Did she notice me? If she had known who I was would she have faced me or would she run? Would she have cried or would she have kneeled down and thanked me?

I smiled imagining the look on her face when she would realize my plan. A terror-stricken face. Her full honey-dripping cheeks would hollow in pale horror when I choose to reveal my true intentions.

Most would call me a monster, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Monsters kill without reason. And I had a reason. Food needed to be put on the table. Bills needed to be paid. Money is worth more than any insignificant life.

 I cracked my neck. Nobody was here. It was just us two. Alone. I roughly reached my hand into my jacket pocket and the extending of my arm sent the daintiest but deadliest rustle from my jacket.

Her head whipped to the side and our eyes collided. Her eyes were questioning as if she just noticed that she wasn’t alone. As much as I would have liked to admire the lapis orbs staring at me and learn her story–a job is always better when you know your partner’s story–I couldn’t afford to waste any more time. I won’t ever know what dreams lay behind her eyes, and she would never tell.

Her eyebrow raised with a confused look and her fists tightened. Her eyes followed my arm down to my hand which was gripping a knife. Long, curved, and toothy, smirking with malicious intent.

She screams.

And I leave the store soon after.