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I hide in the shadows not because I’m afraid to be seen. I hide in the shadows, so that they would be afraid of me, so that when I emerge, they would run as hell where their eyes are looking. Do you get where they are running? Do you get what their eyes see? They see me and they run into my embrace. Into death’s embrace numbing their pain…


Perspective: Besputha Tomkova


The pain spreading through my body is not a physical one. I’m not sure you could even call it "pain". More like a depression from depressurization. Maybe the biggest and deepest depression someone have ever felt. My life is a total mess.

I am a whore. And a killer. A lot of my customers die by my hand right after sex, as if I am a mantis. I take their money, car keys, house keys… Oh and they do have lots of cash, so my pimp can actually pay for silence of anyone who starts thinking about doing "the right thing". Not like he approves of my killing spree, but considering the shitload of money it brings, he can withstand it. Besides the gossips attract more and more rich dicks in search of some on-the-edge pleasures. Those fuckheads do like the sense of danger. They hate the danger itself, but the chance of getting sliced makes them surprisingly horny, so horny, they could have cum just coming into the room with a whore.

But I’m tired of all this. All this blood has lost its saltiness to me. It worked somehow before, made me feel better, made me feel… Alive to an extent. But it’s all the same, nothing changes, nothing satisfies me, nothing seems to numb the pain. I just want to slip into the shadows, disappear, to become free from it all: from paid sex and murder for money and hatred. Sometimes I want to get into a tree shade, become part of it, become part of something big… Something important… Something… Good? Become part of YOU.

YOU. My one and only. My "fated one". It’s strange, like after all this shit... While being in this shit, there is still a little girl inside me, wanting to find YOU, my… Prince, my knight in shiny armor. I want to become YOUR shadow. I want to follow YOU whenever YOU go. I want to go to picnics, dances, movies… All with YOU. I want YOU to come into a cool forest brook, I want to come up to YOU from behind, so that YOU won’t notice, embrace YOU, kiss YOU. I want YOU to feel my presence, but never see me, so that YOU will be pleasured and won’t know by whom or what. Even when YOU are alone with a woman, I want YOU to feel my presence, to feel me helping her to bring YOU to the next orgasm. And then I want to become part of her, so that for a split second YOU would see me in her eyes, so that YOU would start searching for me as well.

This will never happen. My life is so damn pathetic: a club, a rich pervert, sex with him for big payload, knife in his back for even bigger one. Even now instead of searching for YOU, I sit at the bar on the south-east of the city, waiting for my client. How I want him not to arrive at all… But he gave the pimp an advanced pay, so he will come for sure… For fuck’s sake, I do not even know the name of this club! Pimp dropped me off at the back door. When will this all end at last?

I take a glass of double brandy with ice and drink it up dry. I look to the entrance and my jaw nearly drops.

I see YOU! I see YOU talking to guard at the entrance. I see YOU showing him YOUR passport and getting through. YOU come a bit forward, stop and look around. YOUR gaze stops at me. I turn away swiftly, afraid to show the sudden excitement I have not felt in forever. Even though I know it’s futile to try to hide it from YOUR blue eyes. In a moment I hear YOUR voice, calm, confident with some strange inner power. It’s not too low and not too high. It’s… Neutral. A voice that can be listened to as if music, no matter the words.

- Can I join you? – YOU ask.

I turn to YOU, look at YOUR face: YOUR wide nose, YOUR slightly plump limps, making up a light and slightly shy smile, eyebrows meeting up with each other, slightly lifted up in question. I observe the smooth shape of YOUR face, short, trimmed sideburns, dark blonde Caesar cut.

- Yeah, sure.

- Thank you, milady.

YOU are so… Couth? Courteous? Wait… How old are YOU even? Are YOU even 18?

- What’s your name, milady?

And what’s with this "milady" thing? Oh… Who cares? I feel a strong attraction to YOU. I WANT YOU so much… I have no idea, how I am able to stop myself from hanging on YOUR neck, kissing YOUR lips. What are names for? They are pointless. Why would you be thinking of a name for GOD and his SHADOW?..

- Besputha. You?

- Dmitry.

- Nice to meet you, - I respond and give YOU my hand. YOU take it and… Kiss it…

- Likewise, milady.

Hell, where did YOU learn such manners? Or maybe you are not HIM? What if you are just similar to HIM? But then, why do I feel so attracted to you?

- Please, tell me, milady, what a pretty girl like you may be doing in such an… Establishment?

- Firstly, let’s stop with this "milady" nonsense, ok?

- Erm… Ok?

- I’m honored and all, but this is a bit off-putting for me.

Honored! You don’t say! I’m a fucking whore, spreading legs for whomever and whatever has money. A fucking slut! And I am called "milady". It’s way off a title for me.

- Ok. And what is "secondly"?

- Well, what do people usually do in clubs?

- To be honest, I do not have much experience in this matter: it’s my first time in a club.

- So, you’re a virgin?

- What do you mean?

- Are there a lot of meanings to this question?

You felt silent for a moment. But that time was enough for me to understand, that you are not HIM after all. I can’t find words to explain this, how you are different from HIM… Something minor, just some details, which I can’t see, but feel as an instinct. But you are still interesting to me. Something attracts me in you, something… Familiar.

- In both meanings, that you meant – yes.

- Wow…

- Wow?

- No, no… Nothing. I will introduce you to the club life, if you buy me a drink.

- What do you want?

- Passionate night.

- Is that the name of the cocktail or how tonight will end for us?

- Cocktail. We’ll see about tonight later.

- All right. Barman! "Passionate Night" for the lady!

Barman smiles and starts mixing up the cocktail. While he is busy, we are looking at each other. I feel like there is a connection between us. Even… Even like it’s not a new one, but the one being restored somehow. I feel as if I know you for a long time, even if I saw you for the first time just now.

When barman finishes the cocktail, something strange starts happening. Your face changes: smile is gone, the gaze turns inwards. You bend to the side, and I see something green flying in just an inch from my face. I look to the left and see barman touching a green bottle sticking out of his face, with rivulets of blood running down his white shirt. In my side vision I see how you are now sitting straight again. I turn back to you – you are looking into the crowd. The client I was supposed to meet in here is coming towards us, he is most definitely drunk.

- This is my whore!

I am about to cry: just when I thought my life is beginning to change, here comes this rich dickhead and drags me down to earth! Could he not agree with my pimp for another girl? For another day, at least? Why me? Now this fuck is running towards you raising his fists, shaking as if his on a fast ship, instead of normal floor.

- This is my whore! I paid for her!

He lunges at you, but you move slightly to the side and so he ends up leaning on the bar-table, swiping off the freshly done cocktail. He straightens up, focuses on you, and raises his hand again, which you intercept and with a combination I am unable to comprehend lay him down on the back right on top the bar-table. You jump on top of him and punch him straight in the nose, get off him, search him, find his wallet and throw it to the second barman, who arrived to assist the injured one:

- I think this should cover the damages.

You grab my hand and drag me through the entrance past the dazzled guards.

- Where to now? – I ask.

- Do you live far from here?

I look at the club entrance – "Burning Tower" with a small burning tower of Pisa instead of "T":

- Not really. Let’s go.

While we are walking to my home you do not say a word. When we enter the apartment, first me, then you, you turn me around, holding me by my waist and kiss me on the lips. I feel a fire burning inside of you, I feel it trying to melt me as a wax candle… So, I answer the kiss.


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