Halloween is great. You get to be something you’re not. You get to hide behind a mask or a costume. You get to disguise yourself. This year I’m going as an angel, because what’s more dramatic than me going as a heavenly creature? I’ll tell you- nothing. It’s the last role anyone would expect me to play. It’s not my fault though, it’s not like I set out to be this horrible person one day, I didn’t just decide to wake up and be some psycho-stalker serial killer. It just happened. It worked out for the best, but as a type of penance, or maybe just some fucked up logic, I’m going as an angel.

Jenna said Amy is getting to her house at 10, which leaves me plenty of time to finish getting my outfit ready. I already have the fuzzy, sexy halo- a must for any coquettish creature of God. It’s the kind that has the barely there suspension to make it float above your head like a ring of dandelion petals. It just sits above my curls to actual give me that radiating-light look. When my hair was longer the weight of it held it down more, but since the accident with that guy from Chattanooga where my hair got caught up in the fishing line I was strangling him with I’ve had to trim it down. I’ve seen fishing line get tangled up in trees in the park near where I grew up, but I didn’t know it had such a damaging effect on hair. I guess if you can use it to wind the life out of someone it makes sense it can butcher long, curly hair.

Anyway, to compliment the halo, I have a glass crystal cross that hangs down to my cleavage, which also has a nice glowing affect like I didn’t try to make them a lethal weapon once. After watching Ben Herr and realizing that a guy can drown in soup, I was feeling optimistic that you could cease someone’s breathing with a large tit. Maybe mine aren’t big enough for that, but I put a good effort in. Besides, a pillow turned out to be just fine; he was already cuffed up. It’s not like he lived to explain to anyone that plan A had failed. They say that Thomas Edison found 900-something ways to not invent the light bulb, and this way I got to keep my dignity on top of finding a non-effective way to suffocate someone.

To complement the delicate cross, I have the devilishly plunging, sweetheart neckline nighty that is almost too sheer and too white at the same time. It barely reaches my mid-thigh, and is lined around the top and the bottom with the same dandelion-esq material that my halo is made from. There are light pockets on both the left and right sides like an apron; who knows what type of magic an angel can be carrying around in her pocket? Whatever goes in this pocket will have to be small, light, and probably white. Anthrax, Talcum powder, or heroin, would all be a safe bet. Anything like PCP (when properly contained) can be useful too. The only downside is, those might all be ways to murder someone, but they’re also really traceable. It’s not like I go out to kill people so I can avoid being caught; it’s just an occupational hazard. Not to mention the paperwork and jail time are a bitch. I’ve seen enough TV dramas to know that much. Although I’m sure the things you learn inside are worth the effort- it’s like college for killers.

A few years ago for Halloween I was a wounded cop, well technically SWAT, but either way that was a great night. After all the excitement of splitting the hot Asian in half you would have thought my night would have gone downhill, but being able to stand there, mocking the real pigs in my fake, slutty outfit with real blood mixed with the fake stuff from Party City was just too intense. Here I was, the “perp” as I was being referred to, all dressed up and grossed out, watching them try to figure out how someone could have managed to lure her to the back of a seedy bar that shared a nasty ally with an industrial company. According to the ligature marks the pretty Asian dolled up like a prisoner didn’t resist getting cuffed to the large chain link materials hanging about. She must not have realized that the “perp” was going to start the machine that would later tear her body down the center leaving one half hanging in the air, and the other being dragged gently back and forth across the ground from centrifugal force.

The next night of Halloween I dressed up as a prisoner in her honor. She was a lovely girl, and it was an added bonus that someone who should have been a real prisoner was out gallivanting in a whored-up prison outfit for the entire world to ogle. Speaking of ogling, for that same purpose, this costume comes with a little garter belt. It’s delicate, lacy, fuzzy, and, of course, white. It sits perfectly on my thigh so that it doesn’t draw too much attention to itself, and the things it can be used to conceal, but high enough that it’s hard to forget how cute and cut-off my outfit is. There’s not much to hide in a garter belt unless you are going for the obvious knife or gun, but neither of those are appropriate for an angel. You can however, adjust the elastic strap so that when you take it off and are kinkily putting it in someone’s mouth you can pull said elastic strap so that the garter belt expands and blocks off their air passage. When they inevitably pass out you can do what you like with them. I have not personally tried this method; although the charming young man that was later lost in a horrific camping accident gave me the idea when we were playing naughty games in an inflatable raft on the lake. It was so tragic to hear that his fiancée of two years had recently broken up with him, which inspired him to take a weekend off and head up to the mountains alone. Who could have foreseen that his heating element would go implode like that?

Other things that go up, though not in the same derange manner are my wings. They are of course thin, and bedazzled with little shinny jewels. They attached to the costume itself so I don’t have to be constricted by the backpack-like straps. After all every angel needs her arms…

The best part of my costume though is the shoes, because every angel needs a little bit of devil in them they aren’t pure white, or at least they won’t be for very long. They are six inch stilettoes, because when you’re 5’2” six inches is barely noticeable. They have a wide chunky wedge in front. There’s no lace or poof, they are as plain as plain can be. The soles have been completely worn off so there is no identifiable marking left, and after tonight there will be a deep, almost black red, trailing up the narrow spike. There will probably be some eyeball matter stuck to the bottom after I impale tonight’s lucky chump, but that can be worn down. After all, no one really needs all six inches, it’s a hazard. They’ll be much easier to walk in when they’re five inches instead.

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