by Stacey Foxworthy

Created on: October 18, 2008   Last Updated: October 21, 2008

A Womans Desperation

The majority of people that reside in highly civilized societies have incorporated a moral compass that is severely influenced by that particular society's values, culture, and predominant religious belief. There are many safeguards built in to prevent individuals from acting out in gruesome finality, both biological and cultural. The development of a conscience paired with the moral and ethical guidelines that are enforced by societies in an attempt to achieve civility are what typically guide our actions and behavior. However, there is a point, under great duress, when that compass will shatter into a million pieces. I had reached just such a pointfrom a hard-working, decent, civilized member of society I had been transformed into a vengeful, remorseless, cold-blooded killer.

Placing the newly sharpened edge of the knife against her soft, vulnerable throat, I stared maniacally into her husband's eyes. I could feel the euphoria setting in, an intense rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. The fear, the terror, the agony that was plaguing him was making my heart pound feverishly, my head swirl, and my entire body ache. All the excitement was making it difficult for me to hold the knife steady. It was unlike any other feeling I had experienced in my life, it was purely orgasmic on a cataclysmic scale. This distorted man, this unholy monster was now terrified of ME!

An overwhelming sense of power cascaded over me like a tidal wave and I wanted to savor every last drop. What pleased me the most was that this pathetic ensemble of a man was terrified of me, a woman he had believed was insignificant and weak. A woman he had painted as a victim. They all had been tragically mistaken and I planned to reveal to each and every one of them in gruesome detail just how faulty they had been in their judgment. Now I was the one in control and I would become the one thing they feared most. To them I would become the grim-reaper. I was Death.

A little blood drew around the wound created by the pressure from the razor-sharp blade pressing into her flesh. His eyes widened in terror at the sight of her agony amidst her whimpers and the tears streaming steadily down her face. This man cared not for me when he had done what he had so why in hell should I give a damn about her! She was just another innocent suffering in the name of justice or lack thereof, how ironic. All reason had escaped me. I had transformed myself into his own personal demon and I reveled

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