SICK
She is so beautiful, he thought to himself. He loved her so much. Her hot, silky body. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. Her ever so loving voice. But most of all he adored her sweet, innocent face. He knew all its lines and creases. Its many soft curves and sharp angles. Sometimes, late at night, he would lie awake for hours, staring at her while she lay peacefully on her pillow. Gazing lovingly at her features, memorizing its contours with the tips of his fingers. The brow was an impressive brow, high and prominent. He had always thought that a strong brow was the sign of a strong mind. Sometimes he wondered what thoughts went on behind that brow, and whether he could ever understand them all. His own brow was not so extravagant, and so, he guessed neither were his thoughts. But he to had thoughts that were not so easily understood either. He knew he did! He had surprised his lover with them once, and that was proof enough. Her eyes were so innocent and so pure. The sockets deep set but level to give them a penetrating gaze. Behind the shut lids were the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. "Baby blue," he called them. But there was nothing remarkable about them. The almost imperceptible wrinkles born from the stress of life. Drawn at the corners, were a clue to their witness. These were eyes with experience. They had seen quite a lot-not all of it pleasant. Sometimes he thought those eyes could look right into his soul. Yet there was still innocence within their look. For he knew they could not see everything. His lover's nose was a marble sculpture, a Grecian ideal of beauty made flesh. It helped to accentuate the sharp cheekbones, and divided the face with geometric precision into absolutely perfect halves. There are two equal sides to everything, he would say. Just look at my lover's face. The lips were perhaps the most remarkable feature of his lover's face. Thin, but no so thin that they did not feel full and inviting when pressed against his own. More than the brow, more than the eyes, more than the nose. It was the lips that best captured the expressions of his lover. Relaxed, they were a study of contentment. Turned down, they were a road map of dissatisfaction. He preferred to think of them turned up, in absolute happiness and laughter. It was these lips, so sweet and gentle in their line that shaped the words his lover spoke to him. Those words often amazed him. They spoke of important things he sometimes did not understand. They spoke tenderly of him and the affection his lover felt toward him. Once they had spoken harshly. Once they had called him SICK. But only once. But he realized that that one cruel insult helped him to remember his lover's kinder words all the more sweetly. He would spend all night gazing at his lover's face that way, and thinking thoughts of true love and devotion. Until the alarm clock rang, reminding him that he had to go to work. Reluctantly, he would put his lover's head back in the refrigerator where he kept it safe and secure while he was gone. This time however, he was feeling hungry. Wanting a snack, he went to the kitchen silverware drawer, reached inside and pulled out a fork. He then  used the fork to impale one of the squirming maggots that had made its home on his lover's dead face. He plucked the maggot into his mouth and gulped it down. Then he placed his lover's severed head back inside the safety of the refrigerator. He walked into his garage where his lover's headless body laid sprawled across the work table. He looked down at it admiringly. He then reached over and grabbed the blood caked bow saw and went to work dismembering her remains one piece at a time. It was an orgy of flying limbs and gore. He remembered to remove her private parts and kept them in a trash can to play with later. After his work was done, he placed the severed body parts in several trash bags and dragged them to his backyard. Outside the moon was full and shining high in the night sky making the stars twinkle. He walked out to the large hole that he had dug a few days earlier and piled the trash bags into the hole. The shoveling of dirt was the only noise heard in the stillness of the night. When he was done he cleaned his tools and put them away. He went back inside his house to take a hot relaxing shower. The rest of his day would be an empty and unfulfilling one. Until the evening, when he could return home to his beloved. To embrace his lover. To make love to her, and to have sex with her rotting, severed head once again. Just the thought of performing this act made him hard. Then he would lay her on the pillow beside him so he could contemplate his lover's face again.