I asked her nicely in the beginning
when we sat in my little house for tea
"would you like to act in my snuff film?"
She could not take me seriously
she was laughing and said i was silly.
I tried again
"you're in your prime. Its a good age to die a celebrity."
She told me to stop it. Still in her playful little way
I felt the dejection coming on.
"How am i going to enjoy my success?" she asked. Almost playing along.
I told her, "i will build a shrine from your torn clothes. Your soiled undergarments would be holy."
I could see she was starting to be uncomfortable.
My face was serious enough.
"you need to find a girlfriend."
how did it add up to this I didn't see.
"Blood is more sacred than kisses and blood ages like wine."
"Are you calling me old mister?" her eyebrows went up, ready for a playful fight.
I wasn't in the mood to be playful.
The comrades took her from behind
creeping from the hidden rooms
what had been an empty little apartment with just the two of us
turned into the perfect night set.
She trashed when the crew prepared her
the tripod stands came out. Mobile HDD recording.
No noise from that cheap mouth of hers stuffed with rags soaked in gasoline.
i heard her clothes ripping as the flood lights erected
her eyes were wild and no longer playful.
"We can only do this once." i told the crew.
She was quite a fighter.
Small razor blades are perfect for petite feisty goddesses.
"Roll tape."