ＧＲＥＬＬ ＳＵＴＣＬＩＦＦＥ: ＴＨＥ ＲＥＤ ＤＥＡＴＨ

It rained on, continuously in a endless circle, that night on November twentieth. Peter waltzed down the street with a slump a hold of his shoulders, his head was pointedly looking towards the ground as if checking to see if he was going to trip over something. His brown hair had fallen into his face and his glasses were foggy from the warm breath coming from his lips. A moan came from in between Peter's teeth, whether of pleasure or a sign of pain, only he knew.

Peter walked a little farther, at a brisk pace, he was eager to get home. His home was not far from where he was, but for some reason it seemed to take forever.

[-edit-]

A bit of crimson dropped off his forehead and headed towards his lips, he licked it off like a sweet raindrop. He smiled at the salty taste, his perfect white teeth glowing through the ever lasting darkness. Peter laughed slightly as he gazed at his work, the red stained body of a woman that lay at his feet. Peter didn't look at the body as murder, he was only doing justice to a magnificent color. Red was hot, red was love, red was anger, red was vengeance, and red was the color that poured out in rivulets when the light was leaving your eyes.

Peter trembled in glee. This was going to be the fifth woman he had 'remade' to look beautiful this month, he made them fit to wear the color red.

The brunette knew he was getting praise for his work by many, but feared by the majority. His infamy was growing and now the police were calling him, 'The Yorkshire Ripper'. This criminal was a mass murderer that was hellbent on a killing rampage, killing woman and painting them with their own blood. Then, when the police got to the scene, all the women killed were found dressed in a beautiful red haze of flowers and their body put into a peaceful pose. With that said, it seemed that the killer also let the woman keep their dignity by covering them politely and appropriately.

It made the picture of death elegant and beautiful at the same time, well, according to Peter.

Peter. Peter Sutcliffe. The Yorkshire Ripper. To the public, he seemed like a blubbering fool with no special talent or looks. To his works of art however, he was something quite the opposite.