|Dance With Death
Author: Darkest Fantasy PM
A psychological killer-dangerous, demented, deranged...in love...life is a dance...you choose the way you move, where you go, who you dance with, but in the end, or maybe before that, everyone dances with death...my first story...please review...Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Romance - Chapters: 11 - Words: 13,701 - Reviews: 25 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 07-29-09 - Published: 01-01-09 - id: 2616208
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Dance With Death
Chapter 1:Beginning of a Killer
He watched the man carefully, as an animal watches it's prey. This was his prey. He took a deep breath, and felt a shiver run down his spine. His pulse sped up, urged on by the excitement of his first kill. He touched the long knife on his belt, then rolled his shoulders restlessly. He was young, seventeen to be exact, and in good physical condition. He had to be in order to do this. He was tall and lean, with black hair that almost reached his eyes. Not quite though, blocked vision could mean death. His eyes shone oddly in the moonlight, and ranged in colors depending on his mood, although they usually took on a grayish-blue appearance.
A cold breeze rustled leaves on trees, leaves that would fall soon. He smiled cruelly and thought, Just as he will fall. He rolled his shoulders again and scolded himself. He should be paying more attention to his target. He couldn't afford not to. He focused his eyes on his target again. The man he was watching was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He had greasy brown hair, and brown eyes that seemed to be trying to see everything at once. They twitched around nervously, as though he was hiding something, and the way he was pacing suggested the same. He is hiding something, the teen thought bitterly. And he'll die because of it.
Suddenly the man stopped his pacing, looked around the abandoned parking lot, and started walking toward the teen's hiding place. The teen pulled his knife out of it's sheath, quickly and quietly as possible. Then as the man neared him he walked casually out of the shadows, and into his path. "W-who are you?" asked the man uneasily.
The teen didn't answer, not yet. He waited a second, just for suspense, just to let fear sink into the man. Fear, was everything. Let him feel fear, let it take hold, and suffocate him. And when death is only slightly worse than fear, finish him off. He took a deep breath, then rolled his shoulders, and twirled the knife in his hand, bringing it to the man's attention. "N-no! No! Not me! Why? What did I do?!" the man yelled, face suddenly wild.
The teen just tilted his head slightly, and studied his prey for a moment. Then he said, "You killed my father."
The man looked confused for a moment then looked at the black haired teen closer. "You, you're that man's son! Look, I'm sorry. It wasn't anything personal, I just…"
"I hated my father," the teen snarled, interrupting him.
"Then why are you…?" the man asked.
"Because I wanted to kill him myself," the team said, quietly, calmly.
He twirled the knife again, and started advancing slowly towards the man. The man watched the knife for a moment, then pulled a gun out of his coat. "I'm sorry kid," he said, "You just brought a knife to a gun fight. Like I said before, it's nothing personal."
The man raised the gun, and just as he was about to pull the trigger the teen suddenly threw the knife and dodged away. The long bladed knife hit the man's hand, slicing into it and causing him to drop the gun. The gun hit the ground and a bullet exploded out of the barrel going through the spot the teen had been seconds before. He calmly walked over to the man, who was crouched over, holding his hand, blood dripping onto the concrete, black in the moonlight. The teen grabbed the knife again and crouched down next to the man. "Do it, just get it over with!" the man screamed, crazed eyes looking around in all directions. The teen twirled the knife again, then held it, ready to stab the man, deal the death blow. He smiled cruelly, triumphant at his easy victory. In his moment of gloating the other man pulled out a knife, and jabbed at the teen with it. The teen dodged out of the way, but not quite quick enough. He gasped at the sudden pain in his forearm, as hot blood ran down it, and fell onto the cold concrete. His vision blurred for a moment, and he felt rage, even hotter than the blood and pain. He raised his knife and in one quick, deadly movement slit the man's throat. He watched as the light faded out of the man's eyes, and was replaced by a glazed, dullness. He felt a slight feeling of excitement, he had just killed for the first time. His arm burned, he hadn't planned on the man also having a knife. He knew he would never underestimate an enemy again. And so an animal was born. This was the beginning of a killer.