posted on Feb, 13 2019 @ 03:36 PM
April, May and June SP2019
Harper padded around from his bed, pausing to let his toes flex into the thick pile of the old, burgundy rug as he shut his eyes momentarily and let
the sensation of the soft, well worn wool on his bare feet sink in. His lithe frame standing straight and the cool spring air tingle on the naked
flesh of his chest.
He loved the spring time, it was easily the best of all the seasons, so full of hope, new life birthing everywhere one looked. He took another long,
deep breath of the crisp morning air and moved to the small desk, seating himself before it carefully, mindful of how cold the curved wooden back
would feel when it kissed at the skin of his back. He smiled as he felt that thrill shoot out across his shoulders and looked down, re reading his
diary entry to familiarise himself with what he had written thus far. He had no need to refresh the memories, burned as they were into his very being,
still as vivid and alive as if he was thinking about yesterday.
He reached out and took the spoon in his left hand without looking. The bowl in exactly the same place each morning, Usually some form of porridge,
but today he had requested his favourite, Golden Nuggets and gold top milk, the stuff with extra cream. The taste was yet another confirmation of this
glorious day, just perfect and by the time he had eaten his breakfast, he had caught up. Placing the spoon back in the bowl, he wiped at a few drops
of milk spotting his chin and then reached to take up the pencil which he preferred for writing. Something about the simplicity of a pencil pleased
him and just for a moment he thought about that old joke describing how NASA had spent tens of millions of dollars designing a pen that would write
upside down...While the Russians merely took pencils into space.
“April” he wrote, careful to form each letter with the care that the name of his first deserved.
“What a girl, she was just fourteen when we fell for each other. There was something electric in the air that day when we touched hands. I was just
in line at Starbucks and she was coming out. She was holding a caramel frappé in her left and and she brushed her right arm against my right hand in
passing. I knew then that she was the one. Whether it was the life in her eyes or the fact she was left-handed? I still can't work out, but even the
last time, when I saw her love for me die in those eyes, I knew she would always be my special one.”
He paused then, looking up at the pale, eggshell blue of the wall before him, utterly lost in thought as he twirled the blunt end of the pencil
around his lips, a smile of remembrance exposing his teeth so that the wood clicked across the broad, ivory incisors. His nostrils flared and, for a
moment, he could smell the scent of her hair, that salty sweetness of her skin. Finally he dropped his gaze and resumed writing.
“May. Vital and feisty, so full of life and energy. Like some sort of human battery, never running low. God she must have been about sixteen and the
perfect companion to banish the shadow of April's absence. Her copper hair fell in waves down her back, bright and stark against the pale flesh of
her shoulders. Tiny freckles marking out the scant time she had spent in the sun. Her breath hot and tasting of cherries. The athleticism in her body
was awe inspiring, the way her muscles bunched and tensed, the tendons standing out as her skin drew tight over her biceps and her thighs, the shadow
of a six pack emerging on her belly when she arched back just made me melt.”
This time he took longer as his mind wandered back over the years. Drinking in every detail his mind's eye showed him until, with his hand trembling,
he began to write again.
“June, what can I say about June? She was the last love of my life and perhaps the very best. Oh there were others, but June stands out even amongst
April and May, as the woman against whom all others are measured and found lacking.” He looked up again, brushing a tear from his cheek, then
resumed “I miss her every moment of every day. The feel of her the taste of her, the way her voice could calm me, the way it could raise in me such
animal lust as I have never known. June with her dark black hair and brooding expression, her brows lowered above her soft brown eyes a juxtaposition
of ferocity and empathy in a single expression.”
He shook with emotion at the memories as he placed the pencil down next to the journal and took a few minutes to compose himself before he was able to
rise from the desk and head for the door.
The Daily Telegraph October 2021
Today the notorious serial killer, Henry Charles Harper, known as the “Cannibal of New Orleans” was executed by lethal injection in the Louisiana
State Penitentiary for the murder of seventeen women and girls, ranging in age from fourteen to thirty two.
The case gripped America during the twelve years in which he carried out his crimes. Frequently abducting his victims in broad daylight and fending
off the interventions of passer's by with the aid of a faked doctor's ID card and an uncanny ability to convince people he was trying to help.
He was eventually captured when he was hit by a drunk driver and during dental reconstruction, his bite was found to match those taken from several of
his victims who had been found partially eaten, their bodies showing evidence of days, sometimes weeks of torture.
“I never understood how anyone could support the death penalty until today.” Remarked Pastor Brian Bullock, a vociferous advocate of abolition of
the death penalty in the state.