Sex and Murder Magazine

By Glenn Bradford

The knife pressed awkwardly against my throat, but I didn’t scream. I could feel his erection in the small of my back; his arm tightening across my shoulders, yet, I remained calm, drifting towards a state of resigned tranquillity. It sounds strange to say it now, but I felt that the world no longer mattered. I had to let the preordained run its course. There was no fight.

Images of my husband and children flickered briefly through my vision, yet I lacked the desire to capture them. Even the thought of losing those precious memories failed to solicit a reaction.

We walked. The sound of church bells reverberated in the distance. He pushed me towards the arching willow trees that lined the edges of the recreation ground. The blade was pressed more firmly now. I was sure that the skin had been broken, but I could feel no blood. Only the condensation of his warm breath against my raw, exposed shoulder blades.

He began to whisper in my ear. The acrid smell of alcohol polluted each word.

“When I was a boy,” he said, touching his lips to my skin. “My mother came into my bedroom and caught me masturbating. She screamed. She ran downstairs to fetch the scissors, then made me stretch my penis out and place it between the blades. She was a religious nut. Suffer for our sins and all that nonsense. She said that I was going to hell, and that she needed to remove the instruments of evil from my body. My hands would be next.

“I begged her not to do it. Repented. Told her that I’d be good. She took the scissors away, quoted the bible at me, and left it at that. But I couldn’t leave it. I started to fantasize about getting my own back, ripping her throat open with the same pair of scissors. Slashing her skin. It made me horny. I used to imagine murder whilst masturbating. What do you think about that? Do you think I’m a pervert?”

His voice was even; monotone. I couldn’t answer. We moved under the cover of the trees. His hand slipped down onto my breast.

“At school - when we took showers after P.E. - the other boys said that I had breasts. There was one kid called Simon; Simon Stubbs. He used to whip me with his belt. I’d be lying on the cold tiled floor of the showers, cowering. That bastard and his friends would circle on me, he’d lash me with the buckle. The teachers did nothing to stop it. My body was so bruised, so tender. I imagined killing them. I had special plans for Simon. I lay in bed at night thinking about it. You know what I was doing, don’t you?”

He didn‘t need me to answer.

“So one day I took the scissors from the kitchen draw and put them in with my sports kit. The next time Simon Stubbs tried to torture me … I stuck him. It was after football practice. I was naked, drying myself. He came over with the other hyenas. They were pushing me, calling me names. This was going to be it. I felt inside the bag for the plastic handle of scissors. One movement - blam - straight under his ribs. I felt so good. The ease with which the metal penetrated his skin, it was like … it was like … sex, the dirty films I’d seen. I started getting an erection. Some people were screaming at the blood, Simon’s body slumped on the floor. Others were laughing at me. I didn’t know I was doing it, but I’d started to touch myself. Do you think that’s weird? Sick, even?”

His grip was loosening, the sharpness of the blade retracted from my throat. I could hear his voice quivering. The emotion getting to him.

“It’s not my fault,” he said. “They sent me to places, to institutions. Women, it was always women who tried to analyze me. Taunting me by talking dirty, making me touch myself. For twenty years they kept me locked away. I was reprogrammed. Reconditioned. Slowly I got better. Now I’m free.

“You know, in the beginning, before God gave us light, there was nothing, only darkness. And that was just like my life. So much black. I couldn’t see where I was headed. I could only feel. I became so sensitive. I didn’t like being pushed into the cold. The cold was bad. I needed warmth. Yeah, warmth, softness … moisture. That’s why everything reverted back to sex. Can you see the connection? I want to put my hand there now … that’s it … Ooh. I’m not a bad man. I had bad elements, but all I needed was to be nurtured. My mother, she only condemned me. You look like her, did I tell you that. Maybe I need revenge, or redemption. Maybe I can get that from you. I won‘t hurt you, I just need to delve into the darkness once more. I need to smell it on my fingers. There, don’t cry … ooh … nearly done. I can’t expect you to understand, just … erngh.”

He crumpled backwards onto the soft grass. “Don’t look at me. Go,” he cried. Tears emptied themselves from his eyes.

I walked away, never looking back. The sky greyed around the edges, illuminated by the last strains of a decaying sun. Darkness gradually feeling its way back in.