Last sight

July 9, 2011
By EmmyBaby00 GOLD, Brown City, Michigan
EmmyBaby00 GOLD, Brown City, Michigan
11 articles 1 photo 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
We all lose someone in one point of our lives. just hold on to that famous smile, Because that, is our final dedication-Asking alexandria

A man was sitting on the park bench one early New York morning. It was the time before the morning traffic would start, and there were few people out on the streets. All was quiet, you could hear the birds chirping, and the morning dew was fresh on the grass. The man crumbles up the newspaper, and stands up angrily.
The front of the newspaper had said serial killer imitated. The man looks like any ordinary man would in New York. He’s wearing a gray business suit with a deep purple tie. His dark hair is cut short to his head. He walks with a mad swagger. He walks down the sidewalk, and takes the subway to his apartment. It’s on the nice side of town, the kind with the trees planted on the sidewalk, the building isn’t crumbling, and the windows don’t have bars on them.
He punches in a five digit code and the door swings open. He takes the stairs down. He requested to have the basement for his apartment, and since only two other people lived in the building, they didn’t care. He stopped and punched in another set of codes, and the door to his apartment unlocks with a click. “I’m home, my babies!” he called out. The apartment is dark; the mini blinds snapped shut and dark black out curtains block any chance of sunlight to creep in.
Five people are lined up on the wall across from the windows. Two are wide awake, struggling to get lose from the chains. They make struggling noises thru the duct tape. Both are female, and they’re eyes are wild with fear. One is sleeping, and he has blood smeared around on his face. It didn’t look fresh. The other two were obviously dead. Pools of blood had collected underneath them. Their bodies were straining the chains. Or what was left, they were missing large parts of their legs, arms, and torso.

The man walks over to the first girl, and strokes her head. “Oh darling, I think I’ll have to eat you today. I’ve had you alive the longest, and I don’t want you going stale in here! Plus I think I’d cook you up with Jimmy” The man points to one of the dead guys, “his liver should still be good. Waste not wants not!” He laughs delusionary. The girl makes what would have been a scream if she didn’t have duct tape on her mouth.
He walks into his kitchen and starts boiling a large turkey cooker. He pulls out a butchering knife that was used to cut meat off of cows. He sharpens it, and with each clank of the knife, the girl flinches, tears falling off of her face like liquid glass. “You really wouldn’t have to suffer, except for that someone is imitating me! Someone thinks they can act like me. And that makes me angry. So you are going to have to pay. I’m not going to shoot you. Shooting your food sort of ruins it, don’t you think? No, I’m going to cut you up, alive, so the blood spurts out and keeps the meat tender for longer.” He smiles at his own genius self.
He picks up the knife, and slowly walks towards the girl. She stops fighting at the chain, and hangs her head. It looks like she is praying, and perhaps she is. The man pauses in front of her for five seconds, and then jabs the knife at the main artery on her neck. Blood squirts everywhere, soaking his suit. The last thing that poor girl saw, was her blood covering his face. He stuck out his tongue, and licked it, smiling at the copper taste.

The author's comments:
This was my creative writing assignment, we were given a writing prompt and it couldn't go over two pages.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jun. 7 2012 at 12:09 am
AlexOdyssey GOLD, Denver, Colorado
17 articles 0 photos 18 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I'd rather attempt for something grand then attempt nothing and succeed."-Fortune Cookie.

"Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it's very important that you do it because no one else will" -Ghandi

It's creepy and demented and I love it.


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