Jack

This was part of a writing exercise for my college writing club. We had to write about a person with a volatile temper in the Victorian era, and we had to incorporate a cane with a sword in it.

He reclined against the stone wall, slowly polishing the edge of his blade. He momentarily glances toward his companion and begins to speak.
“Beautiful night out tonight, is it not? Don’t you think that the stars are lovely? Much like you my dear…Catherine, correct? I do think your bonnet is quite a lovely shade of black. Though it might have been even better in red…” He trails off, staring into space with a wild look in his eyes. He then catches himself, shaking his head and returning to the conversation as if nothing had happened.
“Ah, what was I saying? …Oh, yes, it is quite the night. Nights like these bring out a desire to work on my art. Such beautiful art, full of a myriad of colors: black, blue, green, yellow, red, rouge, crimson…” His voice drops down to a whisper,” such a terrific sight it is indeed. The world should love my masterpieces…but it seems the world is blind to true beauty.” His voice begins to grow in volume and ferocity.
“Men refuse to see the beauty within my work. They say it is disgusting, abhorrent…UGLY!! Those fools call me a madman! They ignore the pain and suffering I go through to create my pieces, the hours of preparation, the thoroughness of my vision! They do not realize the thrill, the excitement that come with making such a wonderful masterpiece!...”
He stops, realizing that he had begun to rant vehemently. He straightens up his shirt and jacket, taking the moment to catch his breath. He looks over to his silent companion.
“I am quite sorry for that, Catherine. It seems that I let my temper run away with me; you know what it is like. Besides, they’ll soon see the true beauty of my work with my latest piece. It is probably my best masterpiece yet, wouldn’t you agree?” He removes a simple pocket watch from his jacket pocket. “Ah, it seems that I must be going. It would be unwise to miss any of my appointments, now wouldn’t it my dear? This has been a wonderful little chat, and I thank you for listening to me ramble on. Well, goodbye.”
He replaces his blade within his cane and gives the ground a good tap. He picks up his small bag and replaces his hat upon his head. He begins to head out toward the street when he stops, smiling kindly, and glances back at his conversation partner, as if remembering something.
“Oh, and do be a dear and tell everyone that Jack said hello.”
He turns and continues on his course, leaving the way he came. He leaves nothing behind him except the bloody and mutilated corpse of Catherine Eddowes.

Author's Note

I don't mind any corrections/critisisms/etc, as long as you are polite.

Reviews

[Marie]

I knew right away this was about Jack the Ripper, and I was curious enough to search out Catherine Eddowes. She died a gruesome death.

Your story is to the point (no pun intended) and well done.

[Shadow]

Thank you!