She observed him as one would observe the scale and dimension of a snow globe, with the equal amount of wonderment and enthusiasm. She watched every muscle twitch, contract and tense on his fragile, structure. She wanted him more than anyone would have wanted another, maliciously staring deep into his eyes each time she got the chance.
She did not break contact with his eyes then, her lips slowly uncurling into a slutty, seductive grin, it made the red on her lipstick more intense.
He had finally looked away, within that fraction of a second, she lunged both her hands into his eyes, digging deeply as she twisted and played with his blood and vitreous humor. He was squealing, she kept silent.
Her two inch nails ripped out his eyelids then she removed both her hands, only to smash her right hand on and grabbed his face like a bowling ball; fingers in either socket, thumb in the mouth. Her left hand kept pressure on his jaw: she was going to rip the motherfucker's head out.
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That people, is a stupid display of writing. But I wanted to write it anyway, cause I can't stop enacting the scene in my head.
Nothing much really happened this week, or perhaps I just don't feel like telling.
Toodles!
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