Here is another addition to the little short I have been writing about an unfeeling killer and his love interest. Enjoy!
I won’t bore you with the details of my life, trust me, they aren’t worth knowing. No, I wasn’t abused. I wasn’t molested. I had loving parents, well, so they tell me.
I played little league, had sleep overs with my buddies and played with my dog, Peanut.
I fought like normal with my little sister, Halle, went to Grandmother’s for cookies.
What wasn’t normal was me. I was the odd one.
For as long as I could remember, I craved blood.
I craved to take life, to be the one in that position of power. To literally hold someone’s fate in my own hands.
I denied myself, of course. I was only a child, what did I know of murder? But as I got older, it got worse. There was no stopping my thoughts. No stopping the need for blood. It got to the point I would inflict pain on myself, simply to try and relieve myself. It didn’t work.
Not until she moved in next door, I was twelve. She had the face of an angel and everytime she laughed, it caused my lips to twitch into a sort of smile. She was the only girl I ever saw. The only girl who ever silenced the voices in my head. The ones I never told anyone about.
Then a few years later, she was hurt, someone took her from me, damaged her innocent soul.
All that blood lust? It came spilling out. I never could get it back inside me, where it probably should have stayed. Although I can’t say I regret it. I don’t know that emotion.
Now, I relish in the feeling. I bathe in the blood of my guilty victims. I laugh in the face of death, all for her.
Because I love her.