Perhaps the fact that I was nearing forty was leading to me looking back over my life and trying to figure out if I was on the right path. The problem...was, of course, that I wasn't exactly on a path. My life seemed to just be meandering listlessly towards an early grave. What would they write on my headstone? Here lies Magdalena, the prettiest woman that no one loved; survived by a lot of guys in bars who fucked her, fled her and forgot her. RIP.With my few clothes in my suitcases, I closed the. She had only walked into the house when he came up behind her and covered her face and mouth with the rag covered in chloroform. Before she had the chance to understand what was happening to her, she was out. Her mind slid back into the present, there were feet blocking out the light now. He’d finally come for her. The door opened slowly, and there he stood, dressed in a butcher’s apron. It was white and pristine. As though it had never been used, she wondered if this was his first time or if. More

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