Killing him slowly

There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.

I’d enjoy killing him slowly. I think about it all day long. He catches me staring at him while he sleeps. I watch the pulse in his throat tick and imagined tearing it open.

I dream, I’m big and he’s small as we play a game of cat and mouse around the prison I can never leave. He tries to hide, but to no avail. I’m the hunter and he the prey. I stalk him, he frantically search’s for an exit. I slice his tendons with a swipe, watch as he drags himself along the floor leaving a trail of blood.

I let him recover enough to think he can make it to the door. I bring him down again. He lays motionless. His heart pumps fiercely in his chest, like the little starling I bought him as a gift.

Eyes staring blankly.

Finally, he succumbs to the ecstasy of death. Beautiful silence creeps into my home once more, like mist around the forest floor. I lick myself clean.