The End of Lust

He caressingly felt the edges, gently, with only the tip of his fingers in contact with the body. He drank all he could with his eyes, though. She was extremely beautiful. Terrible was the fact that he had never focused on her beauty before, only on her utility. Now with a certain part of his body gone in an accident he couldn’t use her anymore. He had to just be content with admiring her. Life was full of ironies.

He pressed harder along her curves. Her curves were stunning. Funny how his palm fitted perfectly within them. She was his life. Well, not her individually, but her kind. He had experienced so many of them and had loved every single experience. He couldn’t imagine life without them. The dying sunlight filtered in through the window and played with her features. She was the perfecy color too.
'One shade the more one ray the less' would have destroyed her beauty.

She was so exquisitely beautiful, it was killing him. His heart was full of darkness. In the bottom of his soul was angst and malice. He couldn’t take it anymore. With a swift movement of his strong muscular arm he lifted her by the neck. He didn’t want to do this but he had no choice. He lifted her higher, and higher. Then suddenly with all his strength brought her down upon himself.

On a corner of the next day’s newspaper was a small column titled ‘Distraught Rocker Kills Himself’. It said ‘Arson Lee, former lead guitarist of the little known rock band Cardiac Arrest committed suicide by hitting himself on the head with an electric guitar. Sources say he had been under manic depression ever since he lost his fingers in a drunken kitchen accident a month ago.’