On The Prowl

They milled around her. Touching her. Taking pictures, and swabs.
It was disgraceful, even disrespectful to soil her.
He’d left her on the fire-escape last night. She had been reluctant at first.
Crystal was her name. Well, not her real name, but the name that reminded him of how she made him feel. Crisp like a crystal.
He smiled, “Crystal,” he whispered to himself, touching his lips as if to feel her essences upon his own breath.
They’d shared one last meal together. He had a steak, rare. Almost bleeding, while she stared at him, longingly. He enjoyed how they looked at him. And the more he starved them, the more they loved him, wanted him. Wanted to be near him to talk. Crystal even stopped crying after a couple of weeks, and he was able to untie her from the chair.
That particular meal with Crystal had been the best one since, 1997.
Sarina. Dark hair. Dark olive skin. He ate pasta with her as she stared lovingly.
“I’m hungry,” he said to himself, “Tonight I’ll find Miranda! I like that name; Miranda!”

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