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"The Grace X Files"
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THE METAMORPHOSIS OF REBECCA by Nighthawk
She no longer pays any attention to the looks that she gets, they only come from mere men, and
men are only there for her pleasure, to use and discard as she wishes, none are worthy to stand by
her side, they are only pawns in the game of life.
She is the master of the game, the queen, like steel that is strengthened by water, her hands have
dipped in blood, strengthening her, cleansing her.
She plays her game, as though she’s a medieval vampire, without the fangs, unlike the Vampire in
literature, who hunts their victim for food, Grace hunts and kills for pleasure.
If they knew what she was, these men, as they stare and fantasize. Would it still be worth it to spend
one night in her arms? For some maybe so, she is that beautiful. Sometimes, one has to throw, that
roll of the die.
Grace was not always her name, she was born Rebecca Simms, thirty two years ago, the only child
of a poor Georgia family, she left her home at seventeen, tossed out of the house by her mother.
She grew up the hard way, she didn’t live on the wrong side of the tracks, she grow up between
them, a block away from one, a stone’s throw from the other, in late summer when the coal trains
came through every hour of the day, the house rumbled and shook.
Her childhood was stolen on one of those nights, as the train came rumbling through, Rebecca just
turned thirteen, her farther entered her room sitting on the edge of her bed, talking softly, then
reaching over kissing her on the mouth, touching her breasts, pressing his hand between her legs.
Scared, running to her mother…as he stood watching, her mother slapped her, and called her a
tease, and a liar, telling her to apologize to her father.
After that he was in there two nights a week, the first time she screamed out in both anger and
pain, calling for her mother, pleading for her mother…..mommy……mommy…….please, she cried
out, only to hear silence, as her screams faded, the only sound she heard beside her father’s
panting, was the gentle squeaking of her mother, rocking in the old oaken chair, that she sat in
when she knitted.
On the nights he finished and went crawling back to her mother’s bed, late at night when the coal
trains came rumbling through, she would pray for their deaths, as the house shook she would pray
to God, that it would crumble, falling down, killing them all.
Rebecca would trudge to school, dressed in hand me downs, as bad as it was at home it was worse
at school, she was always the butt of jokes, it was relentless, wearing her down although she was
beautiful, her beauty couldn’t shine, she hid her body, afraid everyone would know, that she was
her father’s whore.
The teachers didn’t understand or didn’t want to know, they were always on her, because she was
slow in school, taking the side of the kids that were nicely dressed, instead of the shy, unkempt
little girl, that stood in front of them, after awhile it no longer mattered to Rebecca.
There was one girl, who was merciless, hounding her every day, the Bible the only solace that
Rebecca had, teaches to turn the other cheek, Rebecca was tired of turning away, angry at her role
in life, tired of the humiliation, tired of living.
One day she didn’t turn away, didn’t run, the pretty girl stood in front of her, smiling laughing, softly
whispering, I know what you are, you filthy little whore.
They had to pull her back—it took four boys to finally stop her—from beating the unconscious girl to
death. It was the best feeling in the world, she could have killed her, she wanted to kill her,
straddling the girl’s body, beating her.
Feeling the heat between her legs grow hotter with each blow, until she climaxed, with a force that
no man could ever bring, certainly never her father.
She stood there in cuffs, then led to the squad car, by a stern faced officer dragging her along,
hearing jeers and catcalls coming from behind her, she felt unafraid, feeling safer in jail than she
felt on the outside, begging the jailer to stay, as he unlocked the cage, when her father bailed her
Her father was angry, telling her how disappointed he was, only concerned that she had dragged
his name through the mud, slapping her as he pushed her into the car.
Her mother stood in front of her, when she was shoved through the door, her face red, yelling at
her, you could have killed her, she shouted, what’s wrong with you, you stupid little whore, you’re
seventeen now, you could go to prison.
Something snapped in Rebecca that night, as she stared out the window of her room, her vision of
her parents lying on the floor, pools of blood surrounding their bullet riddled bodies.
She snuck into her parent’s bedroom, stealing her fathers loaded.38, going back to her room and
waited for him to come, for one of his visits, as he liked to call the rapes.
He opened the door, expecting to see her in bed, but got the handle of the .38 driven into the
bridge of his nose, his scream was louder then the whistle of a passing train, her mother came
running, seeing her father on the floor,
Cursing her, as she sat holding her father’s head in her lap, calling her an ungrateful little tramp,
get out of my house you whore, she screamed, get out……..get out……get out, those were the last
words her mother ever spoke to her, as she sat working on her father’s broken nose, to this day
she doesn’t know why she didn’t kill them, she wanted to, she even raised the gun, only to let it
drop to her side, then turned and walked out the door.
She left with nothing, just the clothes on her back, and the gun in her hand, she found the power,
no longer afraid, she was set free, the strength to survive, burning strong, from this moment on,
she will be in command, she will do what ever it takes, and she will win.
Standing on the empty highway just up the street, hitchhiking, not caring where she was going just
as long as it was far away.
She thought for a change she would use men to get what she wanted, instead of being used by
them, she was seventeen, and thought that she was pretty, all she needed was some clothes and
she had the gun.
Grace was twenty nine, coming from Chicago, getting a little bored driving late at night, her
headlights picking up a young girl standing on the edge of the asphalt, rolling down the window,
asking where you going honey?
Rebecca smiled back saying just as far as you’ll take me….running away? Grace asked, she just
shook her head yes, and got into the car, her father’s pistol rubbing into the small of her back.
The lady said hi, dear, my name’s Grace, what’s your name? Rebecca looked at her, and she saw
everything that she dreamed of being, Grace was dressed as in the pictures from the magazines,
that she buried her nose in, sitting in the library, dreaming of one day, wearing such fine things,
when you have nothing, you hold your dreams very close.
She looked at her patent leather pumps, dark nylons, short black skirt, white silk blouse, tears
welled in her eyes, wanting what this woman had, she looked into the brown of Grace‘s eyes, as
brown as her own.
Grace looked at her saying you have such pretty eyes Rebecca, she had always heard that from her
father, he would tell her that her eyes were deep dark pools, of sexual intrigue, that drew a man in,
when he lay on top of her, taking what didn’t belong to him, and it angered her, that this stranger
was mocking her.
Grace sat there smiling, the car in park, Rebecca, felt the handle of the .38 as she sat, feeling the
hardness as it burrowed in her back.
Grace said oh come on sweetie, let me take you back home, it can’t be all that bad there, and you’re
way too young to be on your own, Rebecca sat in the seat her anger rising, what does she know,
thundered through her mind, of the pain, the hurt.
I could be someone if I had a chance, if I had her clothes, her car, seeing her chance the warmth of
the gun kept telling her, it can all be yours.
Telling Grace, ok take me home, I live down in the hollow just over this hill.
Grace smiling. Asking her do you want me to talk to your parents?
As she drove off the asphalt, turning, down a pitted two track path, seeing nothing but trees ahead
of her, Grace asking, Rebecca, where’s your house?
Rebecca replied stop here, and get the fuck out of the car. Pushing the nose of the barrel in Grace’
s side, forcing her out of the car, crawling over the console right behind her, the motor still running
in the silver Toyota.
Grace said, kid you don’t know the trouble your getting yourself into, Rebecca said shut up, just
shut up, now strip, and hand me all of your clothes, you can keep your panties and bra, I don’t need
to see you naked.
Rebecca watched as she stripped her skirt and silk blouse off , Grace stood in the moon lit field, tall
grass and foxtail rubbing against her legs, in her black bra, and black silk panties, dark thigh high
nylons, making her legs look black in the moonlight, she was livid, but still not afraid for her life.
Then the gun fired, orange flame lighting up the night sky for a moment blinding Rebecca, who
stood there stunned as the smell of gunpowder curled into her nostrils, she didn’t mean to pull the
trigger, when the gun went off, screaming out Grace I didn’t want to shoot, I didn’t mean to shoot,
as she watched her flounder trying to stand, on shaky legs, bending forward and grasping herself.
Then falling to her knees, Rebecca ran to her, crying oh God, oh God seeing the blood seeping in
between her fingers, as Grace held her belly, she wavered then finally dropping to her side, a hole
the size of a silver dollar out her back just above the elastic of her black panties.
Rebecca knelt beside her, as she twisted in the grass, trying to breathe, then Rebecca calmed,
watching Grace die, excitement began to take over, as she laid in the grass, she started to touch
herself, closing her eyes, as Grace coughed and moaned, she unbuttoned her faded jeans sticking
her hand between her legs, touching, rubbing.
Grace her eyes wide in panic, reaching out her shaking arm, her bloody fingers spread, lifted her
head, blood bubbling from her lips, gasping out one last plea……Help me, she croaked, and then
doubled back up, her hands grasping her belly.
In that moment Rebecca climaxed, the warmth, the feeling, of exhilaration, as it exploded, making
her arch in pleasure, as Grace gurgled, and gasped twisting beside her in the coolness of the
Rebecca lay there looking up at the stars, wisps of clouds, passing by the bright hunter’s moon,
she was at peace, listening to the weakening gasps and painful moans coming from beside her, she
heard a loud rattling intake of breath, then the soft exhale, and it was once again silent.
The sound of the car’s motor brought her back, and she arose, going to the car, opening the trunk,
removing the suitcases, each one engraved in gold, a large G X stamped between the handles.
Dragging Grace’s body to the car, lifting her over the lip of the trunk, picking her legs up and
tossing her in, looking into her eyes, seeing that they were already starting to dull, she reached up
and closed them.
Noticing only now her necklace, an old fashioned cameo, a locket, that she unlatched, seeing Grace
smiling back, and a small child on the other side.
Wondering if the child was hers, looking back down at Grace undoing the necklace, putting it
around her own neck, them shutting the trunk.
Rebecca, saying the name Grace slowly, savoring it, looking at the driver’s license, GRACE XAVIER,
it read, she rolled the name over her tongue loving the sound, the name, the feeling, the
excitement, as she practiced saying the name time and time again.
She opened the luggage and was lost in the thrill of looking through all of the fine clothing,
holding clothes to her breast, she danced in the moonlight in the field, the clothes spinning around
her, as she twirled, the song “This Magic Moment” spinning through her mind, as she danced.
Finally stripping off her clothes, and throwing her rags into the back seat, she sat there in the
moonlit darkness, on the grass, in her panties going through what was now her purse, finding
traveler’s checks worth over three thousand dollars, one hundred and twenty dollars in cash, and
three credit cards.
She dressed in the skirt and silk blouse that Grace was wearing, put her patent leather pumps over
her bare feet, they fit like a glove, the clothes were just a little tight, but not enough to notice, her
bust was a little larger then the real Grace, so she would have to buy some bras, and her hips were
just a little wider, more a woman’s hips then a teenager’s.
She looked in the mirror, brushing her dark hair out, and smiled at herself saying hello Grace, she
was reborn, the new Grace Xavier sat in the car, the old Rebecca expired right along side the old
Grace, the metamorphosis now complete.
She smiled grasping the cameo as it hung around her neck, and her smoldering brown eyes looked
back at her, she winked, saying………you go get ‘em girl.
Comment from: Grace X
Date: March 18, 2012
Vern honey, this is an amazing story. Different from my usual fantasy, but I
love it all the more for that. It shows your strength as a writer, in capturing
characters that feel real, right down to the most intense places of their
I thought Rebecca's metamorphosis into Grace was a mesmerizing piece of
writing, and I like that she found and embraced her power, even though it is a
dark, sexy kind of power.
What a writer you are! Thank you so much honey!
Comment from: Nighthawk
Date: March 19, 2012
I thank you for your very kind words, and there are overly kind, you are an
inspiration to me, and that inspiration makes writing these stories so easy, I
want to please you, with the words that I put on paper, and make you come
alive, for whomever reads my stories.
My wish is to reach the audience, and make them see your beauty, not only of
the body, but also of the soul.
You once said that you blush with the thought of being my muse, but that is
what you are, and I would love to write more of you, that is if you still want me
Comment from: Grace X
Date: March 20, 2012
Vern honey, I don't EVER want you to stop writing about me! You do capture so
much of my soul, and that is ever so incredible and special. To say that you
please me is the understatement of the year. You have the most poetic and
eloquent soul yourself.