>>66608526I miss her, too. Do you think she is alive and waiting to feed us cheese?
One late night in Chicago, a 20-year old prostitute named Ciara Hogawk was walking her beat on North Avenue. A red van had been following her for a while, and Ciara was keen to get away from the road to avoid any police cars. She ducked down an alley and the red van followed. When Ciara opened the van's door to talk business, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.
The .45 was wielded by a stocky, fat man with greasy shoulder-length brown hair and eyes so brown that it matched the shit that Clara had devoured so lovingly. He told Ciara to sit still and shut up as he drove away from North Avenue to a deserted industrial estate in North Cleaver.
Once the filthy Claracel was satisfied that he'd found an isolated enough location, he gestured for Ciara to get into the back of the van, which had been partitioned off from the cab with a plywood door. There, he made her strip off and kneel down while he handcuffed her wrists behind her back and wrapped duct tape around her mouth. He then took out a pair of tights which he wound around her torso so that her breasts protruded. When he was finished, he took off his own clothes-and reached for a Bowie knife from one of the shelves in the back of the van. He uncuffed her left hand and ordered her to cut off her left breast.
When Ciara refused, the Claracel smacked Ciara around the head with his .45 and yelled at her. Hyperventilating with fear, Ciara made a deep cut at the side of her breast, the pain almost made her pass out. Screaming and ranting, the Claracel snatched the knife away from Ciara and ripped the wound wide open.
He went on to rape and torture Ciara Hortens for over an hour before slapping duct tape over the wound he made and dumping Ciara's smelly dead corpse into an alley and making off with her bag of shredded cheese.
