What could be more enticing than the nearly flawless skin that lay before me? My arms around her, she accepted me willingly. True, she had no idea of my intentions, but just what exactly were my intentions? Was I even sure?
The night was perfect, late evening with the full moon lending a silver-light quality that gaslights couldn’t duplicate to the street outside the window of my apartment. Standing beside the window, I could feel that moonlight on my own neck as I stared down at hers.
It was the perfect opportunity, yet there she was in my arms, and, even as my breath warmed her skin, I could not compel myself to mar her beauty. I felt as though I were embracing a Grecian statue, one that I might longingly touch, yet never taste.
Suddenly, hunger overwhelmed me, and my intentions became clear. As my instincts overrode any thought of sparing her, I leaned closer and sank my teeth into her finely sculpted neck, drawing the lifeblood that had drawn me to this moment. As she went limp in my arms, I thought it ironic that our tableau, in itself, might be considered art.
This is my response to Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge #4: At the window, inspired by Kiss by the Window, by Edvard Munch. I’ve kept it under 200 words (here, 195).
Image source: Wikipedia