Wednesday, June 19, 2013

A Taste of Syrinada - Celebrating 900 Likes! Whoo!

1.

I cannot count how many times I have heard the gripe over the topic of female serial killers, or lack thereof. My rebuttal to this is always the same. For one, not all women want to be serial killers, we want someone dead, and we kill them, the end. No need for long term obsession. My second point, the women who are in for the long run, maybe they are just harder to catch. Think about it, the average serial killer, a man, caught because of their routines and patterns. The moment they slip up, deviate from this, they get caught. They leave a signature. Why? I mean, the idea of it is simply moronic. It’s because men love routine and recognition. Simple minded creatures they are.
It is us, women, who push for change, check most relationships and you will find it is the woman in said relationship that aims for it to continue growing, changing. Men, fuck them, feed them, and give them a beer and a game to watch, repeat this every night and there is no problem at all. For a woman, that isn’t enough, it’s never really enough. We want more variety, we get bored with routine. Also we operate behind the scenes, adding the little touches and finishes that make a man, room, home, stand out. We love when people appreciate show appreciation for what we have done, yes, but we don’t need for the entire world to know it was us every single time. (Don’t get me wrong, there are exceptions to every rule.) We may not always like stepping out of the spot light but it is something we happen to excel at.
Women serial killers are out there, they are just too randomly genius to get caught. How do I know this? Well, if you haven’t figured it out thus far, you are probably a man, (sorry I love a good laugh) the reason I know what I know is that I am one of them. I have been for a while. 
My name is Syrinada. My mother was a tad obsessed with mythical creatures; I am completely convinced that this was her attempt at designing her own little mythical creation. In a way, it worked, though I am sure it was not at all how she intended. I have no complaints, I like my name, its unique, but also beside the point.
I am currently aiming for my next target, a snaky little bastard, a standard serial killer, maybe you have heard of him. He drinks GIN. But before I get into that, I will start with how I became, who I am today. How I became a master in the arts of human (male) extermination. By the way, I absolutely hate the term serial killer; it takes the beauty out of what I do. My heart was broken, well more accurately I was broken, so I decided to dish out a few permanent breaks of my own.

Okay so maybe I have a bit of an unfair advantage. Hey, is it my fault I just happen to be the daughter of a siren (yes mermaid if you must) and an evil ass warlock? Yes it aided me in my ventures but in no way did it change the fact. There were some bad ass human female serial killers out there. I know it. I met a few of them.
At this point you are probably thinking that I need to back the hell up and explain this entire mermaid witch mixed heritage. Yeah I know, hard to overlook.
So let’s start from the beginning well at least what is the beginning for me.
When it happened, I couldn’t have been more terrified, or more grateful. I was walking home from my train. My internship had run late and it was pitch black outside. The night was cold; I checked my phone for the temperature, 10 degrees! But of course it felt more like 10 below. Winter was finally settling in and I had not chosen to wear the right coat at all. I still had my bear, a tan fur and leather reversible coat that my mother had given me, packed up far in the back of my closet. I made a mental note to dig it out as soon as I got home.
I was about a block from my house when the car flew past me. It was a small silver, sedan. I couldn’t tell what make or model it was because it looked as if each piece had been pulled from a different car, a junkyard makeover. I made the mistake of looking up, there were five men packed in the car and they all looked shady. I looked ahead; I could see the steps that led up to the front door of my apartment. So close to safety, I quickened my pace.
Two seconds later I realized my fears would be coming true. The car slowed just enough to make a U-turn at the end of the block. It crept its way back towards me. My heart began to race, I scan the streets for any signs of life, it was only 9:30 but with the drop in temperature, there weren’t too many people eager to be hanging around outside. There was no one. I fumbled for my phone; I could call the police, if anything was to happen at least someone would know; help would be on the way.
My hands trembled as I tried to pull the phone from my pocket and watch the car that neared at the same time. I dropped my phone and as I watched it fall I knew that there was no time to recover it. Before it hit the ground I heard the doors opening, the cat calls, and the footsteps. I froze.
“Hey mama, just stay right there baby, I’m coming for you.” The driver called to me as he slammed his door. His passengers, five of them, flocked behind him on either side whistling and making noises that made my skin crawl.
I tried to move, tried to force my legs to run but they were surrounding me before I could fully process what was happening. I clutched my purse but I knew that was not what they were after. This was not a mugging in the making; it was something so much more, so much worse.
“Please, leave me alone.” I spoke, my voice was low, trembling with fear but I knew they heard me.
“Leave you alone? Aren’t you out here for me baby? I saw you, you want me don’t you baby?” he was in my face now. He was taller than me, I stared straight ahead and I could see his lips, full and pink with red slits, possibly from the chill in the air, possibly from disease. His teeth were yellow and crooked and his breath was a mixture of onions and liquor, something hard, it burned my nostrils.
“I just want to go home.” I said, though I knew it would not make a difference, he would not be letting me leave, not before he did whatever it was he planned to do.
“Oh you will, just as soon as I am done with you.” He confirmed my thoughts as he flicked the hood off of my head. “Damn baby you are gorgeous.” He looked at his pals for confirmation as he grabbed a handful of my hair that had spilled out of my hood and down my shoulders. “Isn’t she beautiful fellas?” he wrapped his hand in my hair and yanked it turning me around to see his friends.
They all looked the same, tall, lanky, dirty. They were bottom feeders, the people of the night as my aunt Tia referred to them. They lurked the streets waiting for someone to bother all the time enjoying their addiction of choice, drugs, or drinking. This crowd looked as though they enjoyed both. The glazed over look in their eyes of an alcoholic and the fidgety movements of a crack head.
They were coming closer to me, slowly and I froze. Panic began to choke me.
“Please don’t.” I managed a broken whisper
“Shh.” He leaned into me his breath creeping across my skin and making my stomach seize. “You are going to enjoy this baby.” He reached his hand across me and unzipped my jacket.
The cold air assaulted me, I tried to focus on the numbing affect it had, and not his hand that was now inside my shirt. He rubbed the outside of my bra and kissed my cheek. “Mmm baby you feel good.” He looked at his friends who hovered, waiting for direction. “I think I want this one for myself boys.”
I saw the disappointed look on their faces, heard the groans of exasperation and then felt the pain. A sharp prick at the side of my neck. I looked down to see what it was and watched in horror as his hand pulled away from me, a needle! He had just shot me with something, some drug.

“Don’t worry baby, I got you.” I heard him whisper as the world around me faded to black.