Randomly Writing

The Butcher and the Lamb

Written for "Invalid Item"  with the prompt: The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry (from the Discovery series).

She whimpers in the corner, trying to remain quiet between the choking sobs.

He smiles at the sounds reaching his ears. The delicious darkness teases him, begging him to enter, begging him to growl his satisfaction. Soon the slaughter will begin, warmth will cover him, quickly cooling to red sweat-like splatter, slowly evaporating in the heat of the room.

But first, a little prelude--he dons his night vision goggles, takes a knife, and begins to slide it against a sharpening rod, his eyes glued to her green-ish form huddled in the corner. As he slowly draws the knife across the rod, the sound arouses her senses. Her eyes widen and she pushes herself further into the fold in the wall, shaking her head in a vehement “No,” as her body’s shaking calls out to him, “Yes!”

A slightly damp sound follows the smile that creases his face, his lips parting for the first time in hours. Such fun always precedes the work to be done. But without the fun, would there be as much motivation to start the work? He continues the slow draws of the knife across the rod until it seems to have little effect on her.

Now, for his favorite part…He approaches her slowly, dragging the back of the knife across the wall, the sound of death creeping ever so slowly toward her. She doesn’t know he can see her. Hoping he can’t find her, she will keep quiet as long as she possibly can, until the panic overtakes her, almost always just before he reaches her.

Suddenly, her catching breath becomes fervent cries, begs for mercy, promises for anything he can name. But he knows, the butcher's knife cares not for the lamb's cry. There’s work to be done, much work to be done.

WC 299

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