Salome Transformation.

Dear Diary;

My latest guise stared back at me, as I gazed into the mirror, eyes questioning. The same question that shoots up from my subconscious like an obnoxious neon sign, illuminating the darkest crevasses of my (in)sanity. It's always the same. Why? Why do I do this? And I always have the same answer; it's not even an answer, just a shrug and a 'mind your own business'. The response is shot back at my reflection as I begin to admire my work. Red locks curl around my now hazel eyes. Red. Yes, a very fitting colour I think.

I wondered if I should add anything else, freckles maybe... Redheads normally have freckles don't they? I decided against it. I had them last time. Then again, last time I was a bronzed beach blonde goddess from Florida. And in a matter of hours, I had transformed to a red haired beauty from the breathtakingly magical country that is Scotland.

I tried to remember if and where I told him I was from. Knowing me I probably mumbled something nonsensical; the first city to come to my mind when I speak of Scotland. Glasgow. Yes I told him I was from Glasgow. Oh well, it didn't matter anyway, I'm sure that idiot couldn’t care less where I was from.

As if on cue, my phone snaps me out of my thoughts and I see my latest's conquest's number flicker on my screen. What was his name? Peter? Simon? Andrew? John? My thumb hovers over the answer button for a second, the presses down, aggressively, and I answer harshly, almost impatient.

"Yes?" and he replies, ignoring my obvious rudeness, "I'm outside you building, should I come up or wait down here?"

"Wait" I say, as I terminate the call before he could say anything else. Under the scrutiny of my reflection, I glance back in a last examination of my most recent look before leaving, grabbing my black sequin clutch; a vital part in all of this. As I walk out of my apartment, my heels click clack on down the tiled stairs, the noises creating an almost rhythmic sound which echoes throughout the hallway, overpowering the silence. The tiles are so smooth so I’m forced to grip onto the iron rail, small fragments of the aged metal sticking to my hand. When I finally reach the bottom, I cannot help but grimace at the sight of my hand; small rusted specks are scattered all over and the sickening metallic smell clings to my skin.

"You look great," I look up to be greeted with the same clichéd words I've heard all week from different men. I smile and step into the car as her opens the door for me.

The drive was uneventful and the dinner equally so, nothing but useless, pathetic, idle chit chat that drones on in my ears. It’s painful. Only when we finally reached the stage of the hotel room does the show really start to kick off.

"It's gorgeous," I mumble in my perfectly rehearsed, breathy "oh my Gawd" voice, "This is the nicest place I've ever been" I say, lying through my teeth. If I'm being honest, I much preferred the hotel in Barcelona I went to not too long ago with another imbecile. This was better, however, compared to the dank, dreary and desolate motel the last idiot took me to. That pathetic fool didn’t even come with the ability to buy fresh, cold alcoholic drinks; the exact same thing I need to numb out the world. Oh no, that shack came with nothing more than half empty, out of date, vending machine that buzzed incessantly throughout that agonizing night.

"...I mean would you expect anything less?" my mental motel review ends like the life of the idiot that took me to the very place as I'm hurled back into reality by my latest imbeciles voice. He cocks his head to the side and twirls my blood red hair around his index finger as he takes one step towards me, smirking. I look up at him in the most sickeningly sweet smile I could muster as I carefully moved my legs back and a small 'trip' brings us crashing down onto the bed, into soft, welcoming, white sheets. The mattress compresses beneath me, his weight on top of me and the sheets hugging my body.

In an instant, his lips were on mine and it finally begun. He led a trail of kisses from my lips, down to my jaw, onto my neck and then my belly button; stopping where my panties started and followed the trail back up to my lips again. I carry on kissing him while I carefully fingered around for my purse. 'Aha' I thought as I finally clicked the button open revealing something cold, dark and black, matching my outfit, but the plastic completely contrasting the smooth, silky sheets we lay upon. I grip it and the blade flips open from within the plastic and I bring my hand back. The metal trails over his back, mere millimetres from skin and it reaches its final destination, the neck, and I stop. I pull my head back, and he does the same, staring straight into my eyes. He leans forward in hopes of getting another kiss but I stop him. I pull myself up, just enough that my lips are next to his ear and I whisper something, so quiet I thought I might have to repeat myself, but I see in his widened eyes that he heard me.

'Coming like a lamb to the slaughter, to Salome's bed.'

I swiftly move the blade, slicing across his neck, the warm crimson liquid tainting the white sheets with death. The liquid splatters down onto my face, minuscule droplets sitting on my eyelashes, clouding my vision red. The room no longer smells fresh as it did when we walked it but now smells metallic, like the old stair rail. The smell of death drifts around and I accept it, my sense accustomed to the vile stench. It doesn't take long. Seconds. Maybe a minute, and the blood loss consumes him and his body goes limp. I push him off me and I lay back, panting and staring into nothingness, my chest rising and falling.

As I lay on the warm sticky bed, a tiny beam of moonlight sneaks through an opening in the curtains and I see the thick, dark red liquid that stains my fingers and the question from earlier penetrates my mind once more and I finally have an answer - I do this because I don't see any logical reason to stop. Do you?

Word Count:1116 words