by Richard Levangie
It began with sweetness and light. A soft, subtle symphony like crystal brooks that I leaned closer to hear.
Then she had me. I was drunk on her beauty, yes, by the scent and taste of her. With each electric tryst, small waves of lust deluged and darkened my mind. With each intense, unhurried pleasuring, I found more of her, and less of me.
Now submerged both sinew and soul, I was helpless. Such perfection of feeling, like I was newly-born. I had never known anyone else before, would never know anyone again. I was oblivious to the cascade, knowing only the delight, rushing like water.
I have always thought myself honorable and unchanging, as constant as the Nile. What a wicked game, seeking that sunken jewel. Before I saw the truth, I had been swept away. I had lost my handhold, my self.
Now, was it my idea? I really can’t say. I can parrot our pillow talk like lines from a play, and my heart still floods with release. But when was the kernel planted? It matters not. Mine is the voyage of damned. If she led me to it, she found no barricades of my making.
So I made plans both rational and unholy; my genius was unleashed. I laid strangling snares, baited silver hooks. In other circumstances, I would have pitied him. But now, he was in my way.
Yes, he would die. And I would kill him.
The devil is in the details.