Wilson watched the cerulean waters of the sea crash against the golden sands, watched it flow over the tiny hills and bringing seaweed forward... backward... forward... back. The steady beat of the waves kept him awake, kept him happy, and gave him an emotion he hadn't had for so long. A feeling that everything in the world didn't matter, didn't exist. His problems washed away into the ocean by the steady waves. He smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this feeling of... Calm, in such a long while. He raised his head to the sky and saw the sun paint the blue sky orange and golden with it's light as it settled down back towards the grey mountains, which sketched themselves o'er the horizon like tiny zig-zags. Wilson took in a deep breath taking in the smell of this beach. He could smell the salt of the sea and the sands themselves, he was in a state of calm he'd never reached before. Behind him, children played volleyball and buried each other in the hot sands. He could hear parents tell their children they were leaving, heard the sighs from their mouths, and the complaining. But these were all dampened by his calm, by his state of complete zen. Wilson, out of the corner of his eye, saw a white ball roll towards him. He stuck his hand out and grabbed the rolling ball, stopping it in place. A small child of about six came running over and Wilson heard his heavy breathing. The child thanked him, but Wilson didn't acknowledge it. He merely sat there, watching the sun, the sea, the waves.
At last, everyone was gone. The parents had packed their things and the children had gotten their toys. Wilson sat on the beach, cigarette between index and middle finger. The moon began to rise and the sun had made it's ways past the mountains. Leaving him for another who felt the way he did on another beach, maybe a woman. He liked to think about her, the possible woman on the other side. Her language and heritage were foreign but they shared the same thoughts and did the same things. He liked to dream that she was Asian, long black hair, petite figure, and a laugh that charmed everyman. Wilson gave this dream-girl a name. It wasn't Asian, but he thought the name fit her. Luna. When her moon set his sun rose.
Wilson was a romantic, he often thought about tales with damsels in distress and his saving them, taking them home, and starting a family. He'd build a house in the forest, she'd be there watching and giggling at his little mistakes. His hobbies were daydreaming (like most of us), and watching the sun set on the beach. Sometimes he'd be sick, miss work, and still he'd go to the beach. Wilson found it to be the only place he could be alone and truly feel calm in his chaotic and unpredictable life, he sought something that was calm and predictable, something he'd be right about when he was wrong about everything else. Wilson was in his mid thirties with blue-silver eyes that were as cold as the winter winds. His hair was starting to thin a little bit at the temples and he began to see a few specks of white in his beard. These didn't matter to him. In fact, very few things mattered to him. Wilson had steeled himself against everything, pain, loss, neither mattered to a man so far gone as he. Even when he watched the sunset he was alone.
Wilson sighed and touched the cooler next to him. The ice had melted since he'd brought it here a few hours ago. He opened it, reached inside, and grabbed a bottle of water. It made his hand freeze, the ice had done it's job at least. He drank it in a second and put the plastic bottle in the cooler. Perfect, clean. He brought the cooler between his legs and looked at what he'd been waiting for this day.
He brushed the hair aside and smiled. "Hi honey, we're at the beach see?" He pulled the decapitated head of his girlfriend from the cooler. The skin was green and had begun to peel off. The ice had melted and because of this, her face was bloated and rotten. Her blank eyes looked at the sea, once green now dead, her hair was falling out in clumps and the hair Wilson had been hanging onto fell free from the rotted scalp. The head fell into the cooler and splashed Wilson. "Honey!" He called. "That was mean!" Wilson laughed and pulled the head back out, holding onto the skull this time. If you looked close enough into the expression of the dead girlfriends face, you could see almost a face of pure sadness. And if you looked closer, you could see the tear ducts open ever so slightly. Her death had come unexpectedly. A knife in the heart, the throat.
Her name was Karen, blonde, beautiful, sexy and kind in every way. She was a mans dream and, sometimes, a woman's. She had long smooth legs and knew what to wear with them. Fair skin and a perfect face, but what caught most glances were her green eyes, which attracted many but she'd turned them all away. She preferred a loner named Wilson. He was shy and a little on the dark side, but cute and nice too, she thought. She had had a crush on him for years now, but couldn't get up the courage to ask him out for coffee or a movie, a date. It was only recently that she began to feel the courage and on a fateful September evening, she asked him.
"Hey," She had said shyly. "Would you like to see a movie sometime, Wilson?"
"Sure," Wilson said, just as shyly. "Er, what movie?"
Karen hadn't thought about this, she never thought she'd get this far. Her face burned bright red embers and she shied away. "I..." She muttered. "I don't know..." Karen felt a light and soft hand on her shoulder and turned to see the face of Wilson.
"Movies are lame anyway," Wilson's smile widened. "How about dinner?"
"I'd like that," Karen didn't even notice this cliche saying and followed it up with: "What time?"
"Sure! It's seven right now so how about tomorrow?"
Wilson agreed and the date was set. Tomorrow around nine they would meet, and they did. The date was of what you'd expect. They looked like an average couple you'd see in a restaurant. Giggles, jokes, and staying past closing time. They went back to his place and slept together.
Karen would never wake up, though.
Wilson woke up early, his expression was of stone. He slipped himself out from under the covers and went to his kitchen. He pulled his knife, stainless steel, from his drawer and went back to where she lay sleeping. He fell upon her in an instant, blood lust visible in his eyes. He cut her throat first and she tried to scream, to breath. But nothing came and her eyes grew heavy. She was limp, naked, dead. Wilson sawed her head off and stuck it in a cooler, next to the rest of his lovers. He kept their bodies for a week, having sex with it until the rotting smell was too much for him to bare or when Rigor Mortis took over. He'd chop the body into pieces, bag them individually, and throw them out one by one.
Wilson always went to the beach after, and here he was. Watching the moon and thinking about his dream-girl. He wanted her head, he wanted it terribly. Wilson looked back to Karen's head, hairless now, and threw it in the cooler. "You're disgusting, Karen! You don't take care of yourself anymore!" He stood up and shut the cooler, gripped the handle, and threw it into the sea. "******** YOU KAREN! YOU WHORE!" Wilson sat there for maybe an hour before he heard feet behind him and turned around. He was greeted by a shotgun barrel and a female voice that sounded on the brink of tears. "******** you too."
For Wilson, everything went back.
Wilson never took into account the possibility of a sister. Karen's sister, Lucy, who tracked him down since her sisters disappearance and found him with her sisters head in a cooler. Lucy had gone back home and brought back her old shotgun, and sprayed his brains all over the sands with it. When she looked out to sea, she saw a cooler floating down towards the moon. Lucy knew her sisters head was in that cooler, rotted, bloated. It was too far out for her to get and she knew that by the time police got here, her sister would be gone. She fell to her knees into the gory remains of Wilson's head, and cried.
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