A taste for it

For the seventeenth time in February Violet thought about murder. The thrill of it moved in her, a high breastbone, electric feeling as she watched the man across the park. Playing with his dog, laughing in the swirling autumn leaves with the expression of someone trying too hard to be happy. A stupid laugh, braying and grating. The feeling shifted from electricity to something deeper, redder, more lustful.
'There's a fine line Violet,' that voice in the back of her thoughts. The good one. 'Once you cross it, you can never go back.'
Will never want to go back the other, sibilant, scratched open like a scab in her mind. Hunger, like a flower, opening in her at its words. She could imagine it, every detail, every smell. Dispassionately and thrilling through her at the same time. His screams raining down around her like so much broken glass drowning out the voices. She could taste it, metal adrenaline on her tongue as he moved to his car. And she to hers. Starting the engine with sweating, trembling fingers...

An entry for the foxtales contest here: https://steemit.com/art/@vermillionfox/week-9-fox-tales-story-image-and-announcing-the-winners-for-last-week