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Filthy

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"Tell me, exactly how many people have you killed in the last three years?"

It was like a pin dropped and it could be heard for miles. In my mind I was planning an escape from this wretched hole. Outside the windows were painted with raindrops and the fields were flooded with water. With lazy eyes, I grin back at the man sitting across from me.

He doesn't know half the things I have done in my life time.

"Do you want me to start from the beginning?"

I could hear him gulp and now that I think about it, he was handsome. His green eyes were hard to come by and matched the tie that hung on his neck. The suit he was wearing was a dark black just like the nicely flipped hair on his head.

But none of those I cared for.

His skin was perfect.

Hands, arms, face, neck. All of those things were covered with unblemished or unscarred skin. If I wanted to I could have slipped the paper clip from under my skirt, located above mid thigh, and slash his throat. Although that was tempting, I was not going to do it. I had to calm my nerves and get a hold of myself.

Even as I tried to listen to myself, I still wanted to feast in his blood and slashed skin. I wanted to destroy that perfect skin. It was just something that did not deserve to be part of this world.

"What do you mean?"

I could tell he was scared. Who wouldn't be? He was sitting alone in a locked room with a serial killer. The possibilities of him surviving were very slim and yet they still left him alone with me. They might think I was crazy but they should have known better to trust me.

"What I mean is...," I lean closer to him, shifting in my seat. "Do you want me to start from my first kill?"

"I guess...from the very beginning." He nodded, urging me to go on with my tale. And what a tell it was.

"It was threes years, four months, and twelve years ago. I had just turned sixteen. My mother was mean and cruel while my father loved me better than anyone could. My mother, being the devil she was, had just handed my hand in marriage over to a stranger..."

I could see it now. The younger me sitting in her bran new birthday dress. It was a beautiful dark red, a sin color my mother would have said. To say the least, it was the first time my mother did not insult me, ever. To another person that might have hurt them but not me. By then I was already used to it.

Day after day I had to put up with my mother's rude comments and snarky remarks. It was not worse than the looks she would give me when I was talking to a stranger. She thought everyone was beneath her. It just showed why she had no friends. Even the higher politic wives did not want anything to do with her.

"Penelope, sit up straight!" She whisper yelled from across the table.

She had been sitting in all her glory at the head of the table. On the opposite side of the table was my father. He sat silently, smoking his pipe. Dealing with his wife all the years they had been married, he had finally given up to ever taming her. She was like a wild stalin but her beauty had washed away long ago.

Outside I could hear the buss boy throwing away the trash.

"He was my first kill." I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Why?" He asked. His expression showed just confusion, how his eyebrows were scrunched together.

"I felt like it. There wasn't much to do that day. He was a pretty boy too." I grinned at the man, my teeth showing.

"He was...pretty?"

"Yes. Just like you."

I turned my head to the bar covered window.

"He screamed a lot too. I'm pretty sure you will do the same."



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