London Falling

Distant shadows, almost seen
On the outside or in between
Rub your eyes, open them wide
Look again on the other side

4 October 1888

I am amused at their theories about who I am. Tonight, the Evening Standard published two of my letters along with speculations. They are looking for a doctor, if I were still a doctor I might be a bit worried. I have to tell you, diary, I am ashamed at my poor grammar in the second letter. I should not write these letters when I am so captured in the grip of drug and drink. I wonder if they will ever discover my identity. There’s a part of me, deep inside, that wishes they would. I know that I cannot continue this forever.

__________

Evenin’ guv’na, how’s the missus
Must be reelin from all yer kissus
Hold her close ta you tonite
Or I jus may steal her by the cold moonlite!

15 October 1888

I think I have gone mad. In a responsible state I would have committed a man in my condition, instead, I run free in the streets of Whitechapel. I penned a letter to George Lusk, he’s been eating at my nerves as of late. I taunted him to my best abilities and went so far as to include for him a souvenir of his own. A bit of kidney. Perhaps he can make a pudding, the fat old bastard. He makes me want to kill men.

__________

Carousel goes round and round
Soon you lose what you have found
Spinning faster, hold on tight
Safety abandons you tonight

9 November 1888

What I have done tonight, truly shows what evil is capable of. When I sit here, in the comfortable confines of my home, the thought of what I did repulses me. However, when I was there, when my knife was slicing through her skin, the excitement coursed through my veins and filled me with a thrill that no drug could dream to compete with. I cut and cut and cut, diary, I cut and sliced until there was nothing left to cut on her. I spattered the walls with this young woman’s blood like a disheartened painter. She was beautiful too, unlike the old wretches I have grown accustomed to taking. The stimulation I received from her was like nothing a live woman could gift to me. I feel alive! I left her there in her bed, the place she whored herself night after night. One last time, she was a whore, my whore. She will live in eternal infamy as my whore.

__________

Nighttime calls us all to sleep
Dream set in, shadows creep
Ever I lust to close my eyes
When morning comes, they’ll have their prize

17 November 1888

I do not know where exactly to begin this, so I suppose I will start at the beginning.

My name is James Francis Deeming, I am Jack the Ripper.

I was born the seventh day of May in the year 1853, in Canterbury, delivered by my father Francis Joseph Deeming, the most prominent town physician. My mother was Emma Catherine Deeming, she had three daughters before me and one son after. She would have had another daughter, my twin sister, however, did not survive. Martha Alice was stillborn minutes before me. I believe my mother blamed me for her death, that somehow I sucked the life from her tiny body to preserve my own. She never forgave me for this delusion she felt. Not one day went by in my young life that she neglected to make this clear to me. My sisters and brother passed through their younger years unscathed; I was not so lucky.