Poetry by Dythandra

Suicide Girl

The joke shop's going out of business sale
set the wheels in motion.
It was lovely--a human arm, soft, malleable--
A replica just made for mischief.

I planned the details with careful glee.
My webcam--listed on a creepy site
"Hot girls live" or some such trash
Trolling the net for degenerates.

I hook a few, size them up, throw a few back
I show them nothing, but tell them lots
Stories made up to keep them coming back.

My name? Of course, I say.
I offer them a name to tantalize:
Tiffany Bennington. She comes to mind so easily--
The prototypical cheerleader from down the street.

The Inquisition has nothing on
what my imagination inflicts on her...

The time arrives--I've prepared my watchers well.
"Something special tonight" I promise.
They see my lace and settle in to wait.

Preparation is my strong point.
The bottle of sleeping pills, emptied
Replaced with tic tacs.
And nearby the arm--my treasured find.

I tease them for a while--I know they hope...
But what I offer isn't what they dreamed of
Just a second--"it's showtime," I type.
Then I adjust the camera, down--focusing on "my arm"
The resolution isn't great, and time lapse is my ally.

The creepy pervs are likely halfway there,
When suddenly, the unexpected happens.
I disappear, then my arm, a blade, a cut...
A trail of "blood"

Next the camera shifts back.
I smile thinly,
the bottle opens, my hand extends,
I shake free the "pills" and down them
With a shot of my father's whisky.

"Ta da!" I type.
Then the camera falls
As I slip from chair to floor.
A moment later it ends.
My broadcast fades to black.

My experiment's begun.
Are these voyeurs beyond the pale? Will they?
Dare they? Might they call for help?

Minutes later, my answer comes.

Wake up Tiffany.
I see you have visitors.
Too bad the state finals are tomorrow morning,
You've got a long night ahead.