I walked into the concert hall with a sadistic smile on my face, my heart rate off the charts in anticipation of this lovely game of cat and mouse. My grin widened as I saw the trail made of little droplets of blood which stained the floor under my feet. What a dashing contrast blood was against the timeless, white-membraned marble of the hall's large expanse of floor. That wounded, beautifully bleeding youth was limping around here somewhere in his desperate attempts to be rid of me.

Oh, I revel in hunts like these; the kinds of hunts where the chasing is almost as exhilarating as the kill itself. A feeling this sublime, for me, couldn't be attained any other way. Just the pure release of madness that ensues shortly after the first drop of blood is drawn is enough to keep me going for hours. But, my dear reader, were I to be completely upfront and honest with you, my mind isn't coherent enough to compose my sketchy logical process into something you may understand. For me, intercourse is obsolete and the only real satisfaction I am ever able to attain is from the feeling of a clean, shiny blade plunge into the untainted skin of a helpless victim screaming in agony. The warm blood that answers the blade's beckoning call, splashed across my face, is the climax of my lust. And on this most joyous of nights, I am going to get that climax sevenfold.

“Mmmm,” I took a deep breath and chuckled, my voice echoing and filling the entire space. “I can sssssmell your sweattttt.” I licked my lips and started humming 'La donna È mobile'. By chance I heard his panting grow louder before the faint sound of a hand slapping skin reached my ears. Blissfully, I pictured his shivering figure, hand clasped over trembling lips, eyes clenched shut in pain—the tears frantically flowing.

“Why of allll places, did you run into a concert hall, hm? A closed in area definitely wasn't the brightest idea, doll-face.” I chuckled again and his whimpering just got louder until he didn't care to hide it in anymore.

“Stop toying with me!” The distress in his voice was excellent—just enough fear accompanied by just enough shock to compliment it. I heard his nails scratch across the floor as he crawled further down the hallway of which I was about to turn the corner.

“What fun would I have then, hhhmmmmmm?” I inhaled deeply and shut my eyes. Ah, that sweet, pungent odor of blood and sweat; I was trapped in a moment caught up on pure ecstasy. I moaned, “This is so sublime.”

“Just kill me,” his sobs nearly made his speech completely incomprehensible but when I deciphered his sentence, I was shocked with quite some measure of disbelief.

“Killll you? Now?” And I erupted into such a bought of hysterical laughter I couldn't control myself or even stop to save my own life—as if it needed saving anyway. “I could neverrrrr do such a terrribleee thing, my sweet. After all, I'm free all night and you're the object of my passion on this wonderful, hypnotic eveningggg.”

I danced slowly and joyfully down the rest of the hallway and looked around the corner to find my star performer sprawled on the floor, clutching at his bleeding chest. Had I not stopped myself, I would've let go right there with my pleasure; but, I kept reminding myself, tonight is a special one.

His head lazily turned in my direction, “Why?” The tears in his eyes—which had mostly dried—started falling anew and he coughed up a handful of blood.

My head cocked to the side, “'Whyyyyy'? Because I want to. I want you screaming in agony because of me and I want the blood of your being to soak my shirt through to the skin.” My lips curled up over my toothy smile in a Grinch-like fashion and the boy whimpered to himself, devoid of wit. Ahh, suffer as I suffer, my love. Life only gets worse from here; learn to deal with it and maybe we can change the standard of living.

I got down and knelt next to his body, which shook with the effects of labored breathing. I watched his chest rise and fall as it got more difficult each time his lungs inflated. But I knew better than to believe he was dying—simple little puncture wounds in your chest certainly won't kill you. He was taken with a sudden coughing fit and I suppressed squeals as fresh, glittering blood spilled from his lacerations.

“My dear,” I said, pulling him into my lap, “you are an exceptional beauty. I don't come across such talented young men as yourself everyday, I hope you know.” I sighed, “You're a special wonder I've simply had the pleasure of coming across. Think of it, lucky little me.” Smiling, I looked down into his frightened eyes and saw his pain. It was in the tears which ran over his cheeks and it was in the tiny whimpers collecting at the back of his throat.

Acting on impulse, if nothing else, I bent over his face and licked at one of his tears, whispering, “Don't cry, hm? It's not that bad, I'm not going to kill you.”

He went rigid, “You aren't?” The youth began smiling with a lazy, tired twist to his otherwise pristine lips.

“Of course not. Whether you live or die is up to you, dear.”

At that moment he laughed with joy, and abruptly fell silent. “There's a catch,” he whispered, his face stark white.

“Isn't there always? You can't honestly expect to just be given everything, now can you?” I felt the warm blood of his wounds start to soak into my shirt and I let my head fall back. Oh, not yet. Don't torment me just yet, Elixir. Let the euphoria last a few moments longer, until he gives in, please? From what I could tell, it seemed to work because I was able to turn my attention back to the young boy in my lap.

“What's the catch?” He gulped.

His serious question produced giggles within me. “I can't tell you.. else it wouldn't be a surprise!” And I pushed him gently from my lap, letting him prop himself up against the wall.

“I'm going to die, then. I haven't the strength to choose... I want a release...” His eyes closed and he slumped. Playing dead are we?

“And why do you think you're weak? Because of some blood loss?” When he didn't answer, I started to get angry—I felt it creep up inside of my heart like a serpent into dark crevices. “Answer me,” I didn't recognize my own voice due to the hideous growl. The moment I realized he wasn't going to stir, I fished a switchblade out of my pocket and snapped it open. If you're bluffing, I will find out, my sweet. Lifting his left hand, I drove the knife through it and pinioned him to the wall he sat against. As expected, he screamed.

“There we go! See, you were only unconscious. The easiest thing you could do would be to give in, but I hope you're stronger than that.” He answered by spitting in my face. I answered by stabbing his other hand into the wall with another switchblade. Amused, I observed the blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

His sweaty hair hung in his face as his dark eyes stared in my direction. “Go to Hell,” was his only response.

I laughed and nestled myself in between his outspread legs while I concentrated on the staring contest in which we were currently engaged. “No I'm not. I haven't sinned because I don't kill my victims; they kill themselves. All you have to do is persevere.. endure it and you live. Give in.. and you die. Become stronger, or commit suicide.” Using another blade I had retrieved, I started to cut the buttons off of his shirt. “It's your choice.”

“And if I choose to die?” His shirt hung open and I could better see the faint pink slashes in the center of his chest.

“Well,” I started, entranced by the design I was tracing with the blade on his skin whilst taking care not to bite it into his skin—yet. “You commit a sin and go to Hell.”

“Then I go to Hell. Just end me.” I noticed desperation underlying his triumphant facade.

“You want this so badly... Would you be relieved if I told you I want it to, and just as bad? Hm? Would you laugh and cry in the midst of irony?” I stopped the design at his heart. His breathing became erratic with panic. “I thought you wanted this.. ?”

“Oh, I do, I do... Please?” Through his tears he was able to smile a truly wonderful smile. So much pain... I'd never seen such a smile before.

“Your wish, is my command.” I plunged the knife deep into his chest and felt the blade hit his heart, each pound sent as a shock wave absorbed through my hand grasped on the handle of the knife. The Elixir made its long-awaited appearance and I cried tears of joy and ecstasy. By now, my hands were sticky, red monsters ready to devour everything in sight and reach. Overcome with my frenzied euphoria I lapped at his blood until it ran down my chin and soaked my clothes.

“Your blood, your blood!” I was moaning and gasping like a bitch in heat but this feeling wasn't something I was going to sacrifice for the sake of decency. His pain was my pleasure and while he had enough of it, it was my privilege to bask in it and take from it what I could with greedy, monstrous hands. Villainous hands.

I'd been licking the blood from his chest so long that I hadn't realized two things; the blood was already cold and he was no longer breathing. Snarling, I checked his pulse, What a fucking waste. You couldn't last a little longer? Damn you to Hell, sinner. I took a moment to peer into his exquisite, dead eyes—I saw nothing. No happiness, no fear, no pleasure, no pain. As sickening as it nearly was, I felt cheated and betrayed.

You failed me... And I don't even know your name. Laughing to myself, I reached over to him and shut his eyes so he might have some peace in his death. Then I leaned in and kissed his opened mouth, lingering for moments too long on his bloody, pleasantly cold lips.

Hesitating was something I was neither proud nor fond of, so I stood up sharply and fixed my clothes into a presentable ensemble. What's so presentable about blood? Do you say it out of mockery because you're a sadist and you wear your victim's life on your sleeve as if it were nothing more than a cheap, crimson bracelet?

Well, calling it a bracelet wasn't so much a bad thing because lives and bracelets are metaphors of each other, are they not? They're easy to make and just as easy to destroy. Some have charms and others are plain. Most have a flimsy core and all of them have twisted knots. A bracelet, that was all the dead youth on the floor would amount to.

And yet I couldn't remove him from my thoughts. Usually a victim is forgotten as soon as they finish themselves—which takes hours—but they've never burnt out this quickly, never. The moment their blood touched me, I was indifferent and it was all just a game to me—they were the dealer and I was willing and obliged to participate. A bracelet...

I walked out of the concert hall in a very different mood from the one I entered it with. Gone were my spasms of ecstasy, gone was the treacherous youth... Gone was a small part of me. What? Because of some boy you didn't even know? How much could a stranger possibly effect someone with a mind as deranged and mangled as mine? What effect does anything have? At the end of the street, I noticed a traveling kiosk lit by a single oil lamp blowing in the breeze. A small, portly man stood on the other side, asking me if I was interested in what he had to sell.

“I'll take that one,” I pointed to an object in particular which stood out and caught my attention. Placing three coins in the gentleman's hand, I pocketed my prize and walked away, off into the heavy mist of the oncoming evening donning a beautiful, cheap, crimson bracelet.

Okie dokie! Thank you all for reading my newest, non-yaoi/yuri one shot =D I'm trying a different approach and I'm trying to write some horror kinds of things. R&R!

Love,
Shakkaku =D