The naked woman in his bed lay with unseeing eyes staring at him. He stood over her with a knife in his hand and no memory of who she was or why he had killed her. She was just a girl. but he had to do it. Not only for himself, but for the whole world.
Her brown eyes rolled back into her head, a small slit under her jaw, no longer gushing blood. He slowly slips her dress back on, and her cold, blue face is stiff.
He has no time to waste as he dresses her in lace, cutting and measuring. He throws the lace and satin ribbon on the chiffon, and sews them quickly.
The foot of the sewing machine is quite quiet, but in the silent night, the click clack of the presser foot rubbing against the needle, and the occasional clip bang click of the string being cut is enough to be slightly disturbing. soon, the pretty little shirt was perfectly sewn and adjusted, and he slipped it over the woman's head, her body still quite stiff.
She had co.e with nothing but panties, so she should have a longer top, he decided. he continued to craft until sunlight. he put the dress on the woman's body, and slid her into the box.



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© Nyla Kastenberry