My bag has dropped beside me. There is no noise. All is silent. My spare hand reaches into the bag and withdraws a long blade. It’s serrated nicely. Master Williams has an exquisite collection of beautiful knives. Time to put this one to use.

Now is the time for women.

Polly lies on the cobbled street. Helpless. In her terrified eyes, I can envision Miss Abigail, Master Williams, Mr. Stevenson, Mr. Thompson, and Mr. Perry. As my cold knife delicately touches her neck, Polly is everyone I know. Inside of her dwells every purposeless creature who has forced themselves upon me. I savor this moment, relishing the complete control. Her struggles become more violent. She cannot say anything.

Hand grips knife tighter. A warm smile is on my face, the single genuine smile I’ve had all day. I lean close to her, smell her fear. Words trickle from my mouth. “In this moment, you are all that I hate.” Laugh softly. Savor the moment. Tighten the hand. Her eyes beg in silent pleading. She cannot say anything.

My knife nicks her neck. My body aches for this. Sweet release. Better than food, sex or drugs. This is living. Humans are primal creatures, and confining them in civilized life dulls them to the abominations that haunt me each day. Humans are meant to kill.

I only wish that I could slaughter those who plague me. But I enjoy the comforts of civilized life too much. Nobody will miss a few prostitutes. They’ll forever vanish into the fulfillment of my fantasies. Just like Polly is about to.

Hand jerks. Knife cuts. Body goes limp. Blood spurts onto my clothes. None lands on her.

In that instant, they all die. Master Williams, Miss Abigail, Mr. Stevenson, Mr. Thompson, and Mr. Perry. Each one dies in my hands tonight. I feel the perfect pleasure pulse through my icy veins. This is euphoria. The body crumples to the ground.

The street is still completely empty. I drink in the lack of humanity. My feet move in an odd dance, too elated to be coordinated. The sun threatens to rise and grant full visibility. I know I have to take advantage of this moment now.

Bending down, my serrated knife slices into her abdomen. I nearly moan in ecstasy, feeling the full passion of the moment. I can almost envision Miss Abigail’s face on the limp visage before me. Each jagged thrust across her stomach brings further happiness. It quenches the thirst that cannot be satisfied any other way.

In this moment, I am an artist. My knife engraves imaginative openings across her lower body. In an indulgence of a whimsical fancy, I slice her tongue. I wish she was still alive to suffer. I wish she was Miss Abigail, Master Williams, Mr. Stevenson, Mr. Thompson and Mr. Perry.

In this moment, I am a composer. I invent my own symphony, devoid of traditional instruments. The body and blade fashion a beautiful ballad together. My skin tingles as shivers run up my spine. My knife rests gently inside her supple carcass.

In this moment, I am God. I control those around me, and chose to end lives. There is no stopping me.

In this moment, I am myself. The Leather Apron.

She was my third this year.

I yank the knife from her flesh. All good things must come to an end. I feel unsatisfied. This was too abrupt. I must do it again. Perfect teeth grin in the darkness.

Stand up on cramped legs. Leave the body in the street. They’ll find it there. Stroll towards the Themes River. Whistle a quiet tune. Hands toss the bloody knife and clothes into the Themes. They will be cleansed there.

Dress in my clothes of status. Assume the persona. Nobody can suspect anything. Nobody will suspect anything. The dawn, gleaming over the London buildings, brings a beginning to the last day in August.

As I walk up the Themes River, frantic shouts rang out. “Jack the Ripper has struck again!”

Jack the Ripper…so that’s what they’re calling me now. They had better get used to saying it. I will kill again.