Untitled One

August 4, 2011
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They looked at me in disgust. Why didn’t I join them, They had asked. But it was all fake. They knew as well as I did that They did not want me there. So I left. Once I was swallowed by the darkness, out of sight, but still capable of eavesdropping on Them, I stopped. Turned back, hid within the night. He’s such an idiot, They said. If only They knew. They turned around; their backs were facing me. The perfect time to strike. I reached into my jacket pocket and extracted my dart gun. It made three hisses as I pulled the trigger three times. All three of Them fell down. I woke up the girl first. She thought I was there saving her, and a combined look of happiness and disgust crossed her face. She looked at her companions, and saw them lying there, unconscious. Once she saw the knife in my hand, a look of horror came on her face. She stumbled up, but it was too late. Her first step put her right foot on the blade of my knife. She gave a shrill scream. An animal, I thought. That’s what it sounded like. Violently, I yanked my knife out of her foot, and brought it down upon her face, taunting her, making her cringe in fear. Once she realized who I really was, and what had just happened, she stayed motionless, too scared to put up a fight. So I gouged her left eye out. She screamed, to no avail, and then I dug my knife into the juicy flesh of her neck. A pool of blood enshrouded her while she took her last breaths. The boy came second. Merely a toddler, he was. Ten? Eleven? Doesn’t matter now. I hid my knife, and punched him in the face. He woke up sweating, like he had a bad dream. I, of course, played along. It’s only a dream, I said. He seemed terrified, but in his eyes there was the everlasting glint of superiority. I can control the dream, he said. I punched him in the nose, breaking it, covering it in the girl’s blood. Then he saw her, and screamed. It was time. I uncovered the knife and removed his tongue. Tears were streaming down his face. So was blood. I scarred his cheeks lightly, then slit his wrists. The boy trembled. It reminded me of a fish, dying without water. Then he fell limp. I looked over at the other boy, about 14 years old. The light in his pocket gave it away. He was conscious, and using his phone. He turned into a statue once he saw my cold glance, trying to hide it. It was futile. I chopped his head off in one fell swoop, taking no pleasure, then took his phone and saw what he was doing, even though I already knew. Sirens were wailing in the distance, approaching rapidly. There was nothing left to do, but to give in.





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