London Falling

I can imagine now what Tennyson saw in his mind’s eye when penning his Lady of Shallot. I know that quandary well in my own life, though my aspirations were my mirror with which I saw Whitechapel, my Lancelot. Little did I know that my slow journey in that tiny boat would be my spiritual demise.

Diary, I confess, sometimes I do not know how I got this way.

I find myself in a fit of laughter over my unexpected remorse. I will crawl into the sweet embrace of my love, morphine, and sleep until the daylight will no longer let me.

__________

When you have nothing but sorrow and strife
When there is dark where light once fell
When disappointment robs you of life
You too, can sign your letters "love Jack, from Hell"

26 September 1888

With every shred of my being, I regret returning to my family. I see them in my memory with shades time has painted them with. These are not their original colors. My emotions would have tricked me to believe that I was in a room full of enemies rather than my own blood relations. Even my fairest Lizzie refused my call. I only struck her once, diary, and we were but children. Her mouth was so insolent; I could hardly let her speak that way to me. I had to go off to Oxford; I wasn’t given the choice. I had to follow in the path that my father so generously laid before me. I managed to botch that one bloody well though. He has refused to admit me into his practice and home. He was kind enough to me during my stay but informed me that his contacts with the hospital wrote of my little predicament. He politely wished me well and hoped that I could rid myself of my morphine dependency but said that he could not harbor a thief of my nature. The only time this peaceful gentleman ever raised his voice to me while I was in his home was to tell me that a fellow like me belongs in Whitechapel.

I left the next morning. I do not believe I will be returning.

I will write the press tonight; soon I shall resume my dirty work.

It will be a blood orgy like they have never seen previous.

My sanity wanes. If I thought you could, diary, I would ask you to pray for my salvation. God has forsaken me though and left me in hell to rot.

__________

I lost myself in the dark tonight
Returning from a nightmare
I thought I met the Devil proper
Walking up my stairs

30 September 1888

I had often wondered what the first to discover my works thought of the sight. I admit myself, I make quite a mess at times. Certainly tonight was no exception. I wanted to see with my own eyes what discovering such a horrific spectacle does to a person. I had planned to hide in a dark corner and be so still that even I would question whether or not I was the one dead. My plan would have worked if not for a man with a horse drawn cart riding up to where I was working. I had the perfect spot in a mostly abandoned yard on Berner Street. There were so many dark corners to hide in. I was not able to complete my work though. I did, however, get the opportunity to see his face. I would not have traded that experience for anything in the world.

Being interrupted did leave me feeling rather unfulfilled though. I needed more. I found what I sought at Mitre Square. I promised in my letter that I would return to my work here, I did not intend to disappoint those waiting on my next move. Last night was a decadent blood feast. I had the opportunity to take my time with the second woman and really show them what the street surgeon of Whitechapel is capable of. I took a piece of her ear to add to my budding collection of bits and parts at home. On second thought, perhaps I’ll send them with my next letter.