part of a story ill never finish

I find myself staring at her, not sexually , but to take in her entire atmosphere. She see's the knife in my hand and immagies the worst. The knife is there just for the show, to create that fear that drives me insane, you can smell it , the adrelene causeing her to stare wildy at me and she cannot sit still , her legs shaking enough to shake the building off its very foundation.
I slowly approach her, not with hate or malace, but with a simple curiosity as to what she will do next. I run the knife smoothly down her arms , pressing it down gently enough for her to notice. On her legs i do the same, but applying just enough force to make a few beads of blood appear. After this she cries out in pain, but realises that noone is comming to save her , to rescue to her, she is mine and nothing will change that now. She begins to look around the room and sees what she dosen't want to see.
As it so happens, i usually heep drawings and illustrations of various skeletal structures and muscle groups lying around , and at this time i had more then usual, and I had to begin to pin them to the walls, and this created a dark ambiance for her.
I can see now that she is losing hope , and even silently praying to her god won't save her. A darkness floods her eyes and she hangs her head. I think to myself "let us prolong this , she is too weak , we must show her the true ways and show her what it means to be strong now". I walk out of the dark damp room she would call her tomb soon enough.



Ill do more later, im tired now