The Ripper

Her scream dies in the fog. Blood runs across the cobblestones. Silence returns, and in that silence, London learns again who walks its streets. It was messy, it was careless but that doesn't matter to you. The young woman death was beautiful, you remember that moment like a smoke exhale from her bloody lips as she died. How marvelous and undescribable it was. The colors were bright and dark, colors you could not name and for that second it was pure bliss, warm loving and then it was gone.