NOTE: Most grammatical mistakes in this story are intended to enhance the flavor, so don’t be the Grammer Copper, sling your hook elsewhere.
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- This story is part of the Flash of Desire Tournament
- It competes against Top Job in the final match
- Theme: Every Man For Himself
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Jane: Every Man for Himself: F-X
London, East End
11:01 September 29, 1888
All of London Town was a buzz with killings. The papers had nicknamed the killer the Ripper, doesn’t mean a lowly whore can take a night off. ‘Ere be rent to be paid, and me life was on the streets. Bills must be paid, pockets emptied from a man to me purse.11:01 September 29, 1888
A girl’s got to eat.
The first bloke, a tall, skittish feller, had a mate watching his back. I ain’t the kind of Dollymop what does two at a time. Hard pass on them. A Mollisher’s taking her life in her hands on the streets at the best of times; these ain’t them.
Took me a bit to find one I felt comfortable with, and as a bonus, he were quick shooter. Still, he paid well and promised to return some night in the future. The next two weren’t as generous, took a long time, only wanted mouth, and made me swallow.
At about 12:15 in the morning, it’s the 30th now, met me a feller, calling his-self Eli, who wanted me-self to stand and look him in the eye while he Rogers me. We were interrupted mid-act, and he exploded all over me outfit. No time to do it properly, nor finish the job. That was fine with me, make quick work of it. So, I went to my room, clambered out of me ruined attire, bathed, and redressed, back to me job. A bat out of ‘ell, me was.
Punter’s to find, Abbot’s to pleasure, pockets to pick, t‘ats me profession.
At about one thirty, I struck up a conversation with a chap what called his-self Carter. Wasn’t sure and didn’t care if it were his first or last name, there all John to me. Drunken sod just released from nick, had a little dough and wanted a role.
Carter weren’t afraid of no Ripper, believed the coppers were behind the killings. Together, we went down Miter Street, turned into Miter Square, and went into the Gardens. Got him hard with a suck, lick on his little winkle, and then rattled on top of him. Took forever to get him off.
But soon enough, the bastard dumped his seed. At this point, I helped the lad to his feet. Me said, lad, but he was a full-grown man over forty years old. He staggered back to the Square, with me following, telling him he must be careful, the Ripper was real.
Turning to face me, he said, “Madam, I’ve told you, ‘t’sn’t any such person.” Jabbing the blade into him, pressing it deep, I pulled upward, opening him from crotch to breastbone. A kind of recognition flickered in his eyes; his last words were, “You’re Jane. You’re the Ripper.”
Yanking the blade out, I stepped back and stood there for the longest time, blood gushing from his guts. After ten to twenty seconds, he slumped to his knees, dead as yesterday’s maceral. He didn’t fall, did move a’tall. Taking him by his head and shoulders, I eased him to the ground and stretched his legs out.
Making short work of his clothing, I went to work on him. Gutted him like a pig, cut his genitals off, and shoved them into his mouth. Strung his innards about, some up on his face, some around his body.
Trut'fully, being a butcher’s daughter, me’s dressed many a hog before him.
Covered me-self with his warm blood and walked home through the dark alleyways. That first fella was a botched job, a bloody Old Bill interrupted me talking to whore, accusing her of being the Ripper. They hadn’t paid attention to me first letter, addressed to Dear Boss. So, I’d send them a postcard this time.
Stripping off me clothes, I rubbed the blood all over me body. Sitting down at me makeup table, I got a pencil and scrawled out me message.
“I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip. You’ll hear about Saucy Janey’s work tomorrow. Double event this time. Number one squealed a bit, couldn’t finish him off straight. Got no time to get ears for the Bobby’s. Thanks for keeping the last letter back till I got to work again. It’s every man for his-self, I’ll rid the world of men, one by one. Jane”
Didn’t bath me-self until all the blood dried. Burned the two dresses, and bought new ones the next day with the coin taken from me friends, Eli Stride and Carter Eddowes. The Yard’s running around desperate to stop the murders of rich blue bloods I been slaughtering. Me guess is they’ll never catch me, won’t figure out who I am for at least a hundred years, if ever.
Let me tell you boys, I’m straight from ‘ell and sending all you slimy bastards that way.
