Waiting

This was all a game for him. This was his form of entertainment. Watching everyone’s way of going about things. He watched as the kids got onto their assigned buses, he watched the teachers go back into their caves, he watched as one by one the lights in the building began to shut off. But hcouldn't’t take his devious little pupils off of a certain subject… Rose Katya Stork. Rose like his bacteria under a microscope being scrutinized every step of the way. He knew where Rose lived, he knew who her friends were at the moment and who they used to be, he knew who her boyfriend was and where he lived, and he knew what her favorite color was. He even knew that Rose smelled of very distinct sweet lavender.

Rose was a sophomore in high school. She was always of a very naïve character. She never in her life would have suspected anything out of the ordinary to happen in her life since she lived in a well protected and safe neighborhood. Rose had the boyfriend of her dreams, a nourishing family, and the art ability of Picasso which was taking her very far. Her life was going perfectly according to plan.

Rose was walking home from school with a growing suspicion of the strange essence surrounding her. Little did she know that he was following her, watching her every flinch, delighting at her every step. Gawking through his 90s spectacles, he could see in which direction every single hair bounced. He was not of average intellect. With every amputative procedure drilled in his twisted brain, he was definitely no surgeon. In fact, he often refers to himself as the diminisher of the less worthy.

Gracefully, he hid within the chilling autumn scene. He knew he must keep his poise and guise well put together but indeed he was at his breaking point. All these years of watching and waiting and at what result? He stopped and opened his “Kit of what if’s” which was just a ragged old backpack that has perhaps seen too much error following bloodshed. The man pulled out a cloth, with the predictable stains, and a bottle of what seemed to be containing a clear liquid but one could not tell from all the rust and dirty fingerprints covering the outer shell of the bottle. Fixing his goggles, he poured the strange extraordinary liquid onto the cloth to the point where the cloth had made a flood near his feet.

He could not afford an error but he had to take the risk. The time to ravish had come. Cautiously, he pounced on Rose and began to ravage her inside and out. Shoving the cloth down as far as his scrawny, dirty hand will reach, down her slowly closing esophagus… Rose quickly fell asleep.

The sick man’s goal had been accomplished and he can now add a new puppet to his collection.





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