I sucked in the cold air, grateful to be out of the stuffy tavern. Fresh air. Oh, how I loved it. An essence of freedom with a tint of amusement was littered into the cold, biting wind. But it was my friend, yes. It would call to me, out from the pitch black night, tempting me to leave my house and run with it, laugh with it, kill with it.

My other 'friends', from the newspaper, of course, called me Jack. Nothing more, nothing less. It isn't my real name, but it has such a nice ring to it... I'm even beginning to feel rather fond of it...

'Maybe I'm drunk,' the thought hits me and I laughed with the wind. Of course not, and if I was, who would care? Nobody but the morning presses.

I grinned into the night, swiveling on my heel and turning into an alley. The wind followed, pushing me, urging me to keep walking, whipping my scarf about my face. My silent ally.

I crept along the edges of the brick walled alley, and a quick glance told me that I was almost out of Whitechapel, my overcrowded home.

Smirking, I saw a person, skittering along the lighter side of the alley. The wind pushed her hair into her face frequently, and I silently thanked it for masking my steps with its howl. I drew closer, now somewhat curious...

With a muffled curse, the woman shoved the hair out of her face and I recognized her. Catherine Eddows. One of Whitechapel's many drunks. I smiled to myself and began digging in my pocket, looking for the knife that I had tucked there earlier.

Unfortunatly, I dropped a marble that I had recently picked up, and it bounced over to her feet. She slowly looked down, and then to the source. I was spotted.

I grinned again, stepping out into the moonlight. She gasped, petrified.

"Bloody 'ell, Jack, don't do that!"

Wind was pushing at her hair again. I narrowed my eyes, still smiling, and I ran my finger across the flat part of the blade. It shined in the moonlight, only tempting me further.

"Jacky? Wh-whaddya have tha' knife for?" She steadily paled as I continued to walk towards her. She was truly drunk, as her eyes were unfocused and her step backwards were rather unstable. I despise drunkards, especially those of the women variety.

She had backed up against the brick wall, shivering and hiccuping. My nose twitched as I smelled alcohol on her breath. Without even noticing my own actions, I had caught her by the neck and was squeezing. It must have been some sort of impulse...

But who was I to complain? I was one of those rare men who knew exactly what my limits were. But this woman, who cared neither of her own health nor social status, did not.

The wind whistled to me, reminding me to finish what I'd started. Cathy was salivating, and her disgusting spit was creeping down her face, threatening to spill on my sleeve. Damn these distractions. I removed my hand and allowed her to slump down to the grimy cobblestone beneath my feet. I stared at her for a second and realised that she was still breathing. Rolling my eyes, I brandished my knife and stabbed into her upper stomach shallowly.

I frowned. Still alive.  What a troublesome woman! Sighing, I leant down and sliced through her carotid artery easily, like a knife through butter.

She was surely dead now. Slashing and hacking through her face and torso, blood splattered on my face and shoulders. I tired of this practice quickly and sliced into her body again, carefully carving into her lower stomach and cutting out her kidney carefully. A gruesome souvenir of the evening.

I stepped away, the wind hovering at my shoulder, checking to see if my job had been done correctly. It howled in approval and I smiled, the smell of blood hovering around my face.

I looked down at my hands, scowling at my blood soaked fingers. I sighed yet again and ripped off a portion of the former drunk's apron, wiping my hands clean.

Pocketing my blade and walking out of the alley, I rubbed the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. It was semi-white, speckled with blood. I could always wash off the blood on my collar though, and blame it on a thug if anyone asked...

I discarded the apron corner and yawned sleepily. After all, I still had work tomorrow, and I couldn't afford to miss a day over something as petty as a drunkard's death...