Disclaimer: I own neither Nny nor the phrase I got it from a book called Splatterpunks II, one of the most disturbing things I've ever read. It wasn't the horrific violence that bothered me (ha!), but some other stuff. Thus, I wouldn't recommend that book. I set out to make this story a very uncomfortable read. So if you don't like it, I succeeded. I've gotten emails from people saying the in their schools have gotten sick reading this. I don't think it's that gory! Oh, and all the characters that aren't Jhonen's are mine.

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Prologue

Clairabelle pulled the metal gate down hard, slamming it against the concrete. The small bakery looked sad in the dark. She thought of the glistening racks of pastries and tiled floor within, and how different they were at night. With one last peer through the window and a reassuring pat on the padlock, she walked off.

She hummed a bit, swishing her skirt in the humid air. A quarter moon rose above the skyscrapers, and she stepped over some abandoned newspapers. Clairabelle smiled, thinking about how great her day had been. They had been much busier than expected, and her tips were phenomenal.

Taking a sharp left, she entered a canopied alleyway between her apartment building and a photo processing plant. The smell of chemicals and paper rose from the manholes.

Oo, you're a pretty one, aren't you?

She stopped dead, one hand gripping her leather purse. The low, velvet voice had floated in from an unknown direction. Clairabelle stared down the corridor. Blackness, until the light at the other end, near the door to her building. Carefully, she looked behind her, and also saw nothing.

Mmm, a before picture. Smile!

A blinding light seared her eyes from above. She raised her hands over her face. Blinking frantically, she felt movement behind her.

Hold still, hold still. Two arms crossed around her chest, pinning her own arms to herself. Her assailant hugged her close, shoving his face into her hair. Mmm, beautiful. You smell delicious, he breathed.

She screamed. Help! Aaaaaa! Marta, Marta! She hoped the night watch woman at her building could hear her.

Shh... you'll spoil the mood, he snaked his right hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. She kicked backwards, but his legs were braced and spread. She missed her target. He laughed, a calm, low sound that went from his chest through her thin cotton shirt, and shivered down her spine. Now, relax a bit, he said soothingly, his voice almost hypnotic. You know there's nothing you can do at the moment.

Tears streamed down her face. The alley was still veiled in sharp black and gray squares from the flash of the cheap camera. She dropped her purse, thus freeing a little space between her arm and his.

Oh god, you're soft. He held her tighter, reveling in her warmth. A living creature, trapped. His creature. He ached inside, recognizing the movement of her thudding heart. They stood for a few minutes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed in his grip. She waited, blinking some more. The alley cleared a bit. He smiled. She seemed a little more calm.

Why isn't he doing anything? she thought. She was less afraid than she had been a minute ago. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she said, what do you want?

Only, due to his suffocating hand, it hadn't come out like that.

Say that again? he asked gently, pulling his fingers away from her lips.

she choked back a sob, what do you want?

he said. He hugged her again. She waited. She was so warm, so wonderfully warm and alive. Minutes passed; she waited. He gently turned her so she faced him. It was so dark, she only saw the palest features of his countenance. She thought she saw him smile. He put his hand to the side of her face and held her close, a romantic gesture in any other situation. he said gently. What's your name?

she blinked. Hot tears ran down her cheeks to his fingertips. She felt him shifting his feet.

Don't cry, Clairabelle, he said, flicking the tears off his hand. She shook a little. He lightly traced a soothing pattern over her face, a sensual touch. Shh... calm. Breathe. Don't cry, his words delicate.

He bent slightly. The movement shattered her tranquillity. She screamed, fearful of rape, pain, and death. Shh! You were doing so well, he said, a little louder than before.

With the twist of a corkscrew, her scream fell silent. She gasped, blood gushing from her torn throat. It bubbled up between her teeth.

he said softly. Now things will be quieter. He reached up and shoved a flashlight into the supports for the cloth overhang. It shone down over Clairabelle, who had dropped to the ground. She lay on her back, hands desperately trying to push the pieces of her throat together.

Tears, so many tears. Through them she saw a thin, black shape bend over her. The guy looked somewhat sad, watching her cry. He watched for a little while, taking in her slow death. At one point he wiped a tear off her cheek and kissed it. he said gently, licking the salty water from his lips.

Glancing at his watch, he jumped. Hmm, I have to get back soon. He picked up a knife. So sorry, my dear, but you have to be alive for this to count. Oh, wait, a during picture!

Flash! Clairabelle was blind again, and forevermore.

Working quickly, he cut three quarters of a square from her dress and flesh, over her abdomen. Pulling back the flap of skin, he bit his lower lip. He had to be very, very careful. Without gloves, he shoved his hands into her gut and felt around. He smiled. Still warm and pulsing, her organs shone in the light. Are you dead yet? he said, glancing up. Her eyes were glazed over. He secretly hoped she was. This seemed like it would be quite painful, and she couldn't control her pain. Lets see. Liver, he moved his hand to the right, stomach, jejunum, pancreas... here it is! Grasping a small knife carefully, so it wouldn't slip, he cut out her spleen. It's really a pity, he said to her cooling face, that I had to waste so much of you on this. I mean, if it had been just one kidney, you could live with the other, and I wouldn't've had to kill you. But life is hard without a spleen, and since you're dead now, you don't need yours anymore. He went through his logic slowly and softly, smiling at the memory of her body pressed against his. The spleen was zipped into a baggy. Bloody on the outside from his hands, he cradled it to his face. Still warm, he said happily. Oops, I almost forgot! After picture!

Click.

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