He established a Twitter account under the name of "God" and his first twit was, "Attention earthlings - I have arrived!  Standby for proof."

     It was two days before he accumulated ninety-seven followers and he posted his second message. "Proof of my arrival.  Read NY Times article "Bizzare Murder in Manhatten."

     Two days after that his twitter followers numbered in the tens of thousands.  His third message was, "Innocence lost, heaven attained - for those whom I choose, in ice there's no pain."

     She turned twenty-one the day she lost her virginity.  She didn't choose to give it up, but she had little choice.  She didn't choose to die, either - but, again she wasn't given a choice.

     He took her in an alley on Fifth Avenue.  Half his size, she was no contest as he approached from behind and reached around her to slap a chloroform soaked handkerchief over her mouth and nose.  He was prepared for her to slump into his arms.  He carried her behind a dumpster, where he pre-positioned a large travelers trunk.  After stuffing her inside, he lifted one end onto the three inch rubber wheels on the opposite end and pulled the trunk behind him as he walked back out onto Fifth Avenue.

     No one paid him any attention and he hailed a cab, giving the driver an address in New Jersey, outside the city limits of Newark.  The cab driver may have thought it a little odd that his fare was completely clothed in black - right down to his thick, black ski gloves; but, there are a lot of very odd people in New York City, so maybe he didn't think anything about it at all.

     Once home, he set the trunk in a room devoid of all furniture except for a single padded table in the center.  A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling but he left it turned off as he opened the truck and laid his victim on the table.  She was still unconscious, but a slight moan indicated that she would awaken soon.  Quickly, he secured her hands and ankles to the table with velcro straps.

     He stripped off everything but the gloves and stood over the girl.  In the moonlight shining through the large bay windows that overlooked a forest, he was a splendid creature.  He was six foot five and two hundred and ninety pounds of rippling muscles.  His entire body was covered in tattoo's.  The tattoo's pictured brutal scenes of murder, debauchery, demonism and portraits of hell.  From neck to foot, not an inch was un-inked.

     It took several minutes for her eyes to accustom themselves to the dim moonlight.  After an initial struggle against the restraints, she lay her head back and turned toward the light.  That's when she saw him and that's when she screamed.  It wouldn't be her last scream.  She would scream often in the coming hour or so.  She would scream until she passed out from the pain and begin again when she regained consciousness.  He liked her screams.

     Her first scream was music to his ears and instantly erotic.  His hard, ten inch cock swung side to side as he walked to the light switch and flipped it up.  The bright light initially blinded her.  Through half opened eyelids she saw him standing next to her again, his cock inches from her face. 

     "Oh, my God, plea...."  He cut her off by pushing his manhood deep into her mouth.  Her teeth scraped his skin, but he didn't feel it.  Or, he simply ignored it. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed harder, deeper until he had it all down her throat.  She choked and gagged, saliva and mucous poured from the corners of her mouth and nose.  Her stomach clenched and she felt the bile rise, only to be stopped by the log jam in her esophagus.  When he pulled out, her vomit followed to cascade across the edge of the table and down to the floor.

     He stepped back, leaving her gasping for air and sobbing for mercy.  His voice was completely devoid of compassion.  "At least you got my name right when you called out." 

     He moved back to the table and began tearing her clothes off.  "I don't believe I got your name."  He paused and looked at her, curious as to why she didn't answer.  He grabbed her chin and turned her head until she was staring at him, still struggling to breath.  She looked at him, she looked through him.  She'd gone somewhere else in her mind and that would never do.  He slapped her.  Once.  Twice.  Her eyes focused and she screamed.

     He smile was without mirth.  No joy.  No happiness.  Simply a curvature of the lips that didn't reach his eyes.  "Ah, there you are," he said, over her piercing wails.  "Your name?"

     "M...muh...muh...Melisa.  My name...Melisa."

     "Thank you, Melisa."  His eyes never displayed anything but indifference, perhaps morbid curiousity, but never joy or happiness - sadness or pain.  In silence, he finished ripping her clothes from her body.

     At her feet, he flipped a switch under the table and pushed her ankles apart.  The table slid on small wheels to form a V-shape from her waist down.  He stepped into the crux of the V and took her virginity in one hard, excruciatingly painful thrust. His thrust was relentless, the muscles and skin of her vagina ripping and tearing to make way for rod that didn't stop until his hips slammed against her pelvic bone.  Her caterwauling could have been heard hundreds of feet surrounding the house had there been anyone to hear it, but the nearest neighbor was almost a mile away. 

     He continued to thrust, luxuriating in her pain and wailing cries.  She passed out before he came, but that was okay.  He slapped her back to consciousness and **** her some more.  He took her anally and then moved back to her mouth.  That's where he finished.  "Thank you, Melissa.  That was lovely."  His emotion did not match his voice.  His voice was almost robotic, completely devoid of emotion.

     He took her left hand and twisted each finger until the bone snapped.  He pulled until the skin shred and her finger popped off.  He dropped it to the floor and took the next finger.  Melissa screamed herself hoarse before passing out.  The next time she came to, he had finished with her toes.  Her screams, now, were nothing more than a harsh wind through a scarred and useless larnyx.

     He didn't mind.  She had lasted quite a long time and he was satisfied.  He worked his way up her legs - first he tore off her feet, then snapped her knees and pulled the lower leg off.  He continued in this fashion until he had no more legs and moved to her arms.

     Blood was splashed everywhere - Melissa, her murderer, the table - everywhere.  It was slippery and he pulled a second pair of gloves over his ski gloves.  These were barbed along the inside of the fingers and palm, giving him grip.  When Melissa was nothing more than an unconscious, bloody torso laying on his table he realized that he'd have to hurry or else she'd bleed to death before he got to the heart.

     He stood to the side of the table and jammed his right hand under her solar plexus.  His rigid fingers pierced the skin and slight muscles protecting her organs.  His hand, thumb deep, curved and with a mighty pull, he ripped her rib cage up and away, displaying her lungs, upper stomach and a slowly beating heart. 

     He carried the heart, still warm but dead to a corner of the room and set the organ on the floor.  He removed his gloves.  He ran a finger along the side of the heart and left a trail of frozen muscle.  Laughing, he picked Melissa's heart up in both hands and watched as it froze solid.  He kissed the heart, then and set it back on the floor.  He put his gloves back on...both pair and went back to work on the body.

     Twenty minutes later he had hundreds of pieces of her body laying around him.  On the floor, on the table, some of these were the size of a person's head and some the size of a thimble.  He removed his gloves and began picking up the pieces and tossing them into the trunk that he'd brought her here in.  As he touched a piece of her body, it froze into a solid chunk of colored ice.

     The following morning, he took the trunk in a cab back into New York City and posted his fourth twit:  "Further proof of my coming is in the Bronx - 11200 W. Elm Street."