The Kissing Light
"Why would they object? They would be passionate and beautiful in both life and death."
April 3, 2007
IT HAS BEEN a bit over a week, two to be precise since my last entry. I have failed to update quickly, and for that I am sorry.
Before I begin again with my anecdotes of perverse sanity, judgment, psychotic philosophy, and ingenious word play, I feel the need to introduce myself. My name is Cameron Van Dulich; I am a twenty-eight year old man with an Irish and French background. I speak Irish, French, Spanish, English of course, and Japanese. I am six feet, two inches, with black hair that falls to my mid-back, though I usually keep it in a low ponytail or braid. I have tanned skin, with blue eyes. That is only the physical. I am an everyday man you see—average. However, down inside there is a primeval need rising within me. I need not boost my power in anything, not even sex, for it was smothering there under the surface. Like an animal, you would sense it. Just like you’d sense if I was there behind, you, breathing along your neck. I speak to the women, here. I will assume that it mostly women reading this. And in this…my hope was to make you hot.
Simple joke that I made. I laugh at it.
I look at the clock, at it says two-fifteen exactly. Perhaps, if I am not mistaken Joel and Michelle are already posing for Julie, never suspecting that I would arrive too, taking pictures of my subjects for different reasons. While Julie took the beauty of their forbidden passion, I took a picture of their passion after death. As their scream of release came, it would be followed in synchronization by two bullets shot into their pleasure and shocked faces. Bang! Bang! The gun shot there in the middle of their foreheads, like a third eye, looking into the next world. This draws a shudder of breath from me. I watched them for months, making love to each other in a seemingly act of forbidden and incessant wrong form.
I lick my lips at this moment, thinking to the moment in time where I drove up once again to their apartment, and entered. I watched as they made love on a more personal level, the smells of them mixing, the hazy sight of the air around them, as I drew the camera I held in my hand up without the flash, and took pictures. Closer. Until I could breathe Michelle’s musky scent of Apricots. Perhaps it was a shampoo or body wash? I sigh, even now, wondering if they would have objected to being my subject.
Why would they object? They would be passionate and beautiful in both life and death. Screams in synchronization…bang, bang, bullets marked in the middle of their forehead…bang, bang, their third eye looking into the other world…bang, bang, or perhaps looking into each other? The bang sound echoed again as I stood there, listening, gritting my teeth. It was like the impression of a ghost, spirit, whispering long after their mouth should have stopped working and their tongue should have been aged.
As I lowered my camera, I instead lifted the gun that I held in my gloved hand. " Why do you fight it so much?" I asked them. Michelle turned tome first, her ecstasy filled face twisted into shock and fear as she screamed. I pulled the trigger, and her head snapped back when the bullet pierced the delicate and almost flawless skin. Joel opened his mouth in horror, cradling Michelle’s limp body, her back limply arched, her beautiful red trenches spilled along his arm like a final caress. He turned to look at me, and before I saw his look of utter blame, which I was sure to be there, I squeezed off the trigger once more. He fell with her on top of him.
I stared at the scene in disbelief. Yes, I stared in disbelief at what I done. With Abigail it was so personal, so gentle, but with Michelle and Joel it was so impersonal, so cold, and calculated. My disbelief did not last long as I stare at Michelle’s frozen face. It was beautiful regardless of what she did; cried, with her swollen red eyes, stuffed up nose, and puffy bottom lip she worried with her white teeth; anger, when her eyes narrowed in computation, her lips thinning into an almost snarl, her hands went to her hips in a gesture of defiance; embarrassment, when her eyes were down cast her golden-green eyes were framed by her long, dark lashes, the way she would pout without even realizing it, the way the color would stain her cheeks. As I stared at her, I realized that I was not looking at Michelle, but her face was morphed with ever thought, until it resembled Julie. Her eyes wide, her naked body still prone, and her mouth open in a scream. It would be different types of scream than Michelle or Joel’s.
My eyes widened for a moment, and I considered leaving now. Not from fear, the sight of Julie’s face there was enough for me. Enough. I imagined that her face was the one twisted up like that, frozen in death. She was beautiful beyond what should be possible.
I quickly went to them and staged their scene, then finally dug out my bullets. I stared at them once more, satisfied with my creativity. I will not let you know their stage. Yet. I’ll let you here that soon, from someone other than me…but even though, either way it would still be heard from just…just not in my words.
I quickly crossed into the room, and to the curtain. There it was one person that was there, one person who bothered to pay attention, and she had a hand over her mouth, staring in shock. With my mask securely over my face, I waved. She stared in horror, perhaps, I could not read the expression in her eyes. She dropped her camera, and it fired off a fusillade of shots with quick successions of flashes and shutters. She raised her hand to block her eyes from it, but as she waited to look for me again, she couldn’t see me. I could see her collapse to her knees, staring out into the night.
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