Jack the ripper

Written by: Caroline C├ęcile Delacroix

he played a dirty hand though he washed them thoroughly each day. Brilliant mind, hiding a hollowness so dark committing horrendous crime on the lowly and the discharged, those forced to feed on the grime of sinners in bright attire. No one would give a damn to these despised street beggers they would know his clever hands, but their screams would not be heard, their agony ending in shallow graves. Ah those hands, how proud he was so precise, unshaking, for he's a master his work must be perfect, engraved in the mind of his seekers receiving his letters, taunting leaving no clue to who he is this ripper of life, never found... but the night knows the night has not forgotten his screams are not heard as knives swiftly rip at him, his nightmare ends not. CarolineCecile - 10.15.12