Author: chukaliteluvver PM
Killers have strange tendencies. Some harrass, some torture, some even video it for the general public. Hell, some even compose the odd bit of modified cliche poetry for the occassion.Rated: Fiction T - English - Poetry/Horror - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,426 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 10-07-12 - Published: 09-17-12 - id: 3058937
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N; This is my first post here, so have mercy. Reviews?
Killers often have strange tendencies. Some enjoy torture, harassment, mindless violence. Some are inexplicably entranced by the continuous flow of scarlet pouring out of a heart; others crave the screams of their victims. Others still only did it out of circumstance.
There are also the rare killers who sing.
The darkness almost obscured the narrow alleyway, the scarce light attempting futilely to illuminate the inhabitants of the abandoned road. A small silhouette stood over the shadow of another, taller one, who was quivering.
Laughter echoed in the darkness, and a whimper followed.
Bending over so that the elder could gazed into half-maddened eyes, the child giggled again, twirling a blood-drenched knife in one hand. Letting delicate lips twist into a cruel smile, the child taunted the man with lilting words; singing softly as the silvered blade ran along the screaming latter's midsection, which split instantly. Pools of scarlet reflected twin orbs luminous with glee and lunacy, as the little devil set about killing the man with delicate ease, murmuring softly with each slash.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
What about you?
Laughing delightedly as the man's pleas faded into pained gasps that were soon reduced to wet coughs, the child plunged the knife into his arm. Deciding to let time take care of the rest, the ruthless monstrosity sat down next to him, smiling dementedly. Eyes glittered inhumanly, as the doll-like little child murmured, "Bleed, bleed, and bleed, oh, such a lovely, lovely, lovely red. I love red...I think it's my favourite colour..."
The man let out a strangled cry, and the child frowned. "What's that? I think your windpipe may be blocked, or something." Leaning over, slender fingers grasped the blade, which pressed against the elder's neck. "Shall I fix it for you?"
Another cry being the only answer, this only caused the doll to frown more. "Bah, talk properly, will you?"
Unmistakably, the life was fading from the man's eyes. Satisfied with this, the child smiled contentedly, murmuring again, half-lidded eyes watching the man die.
But roses fade
And the sugar goes sour
What will you do
In you final hour?
The blood coursed out, the life in baleful eyes faded with each passing second, as the first rays of sunlight invaded the shadows. Every once in a while, a delighted chuckle would sound out. There would also be a choked cry, the sigh of the dying.
After hours passed and the unfortunate man was but a bloody corpse, the child with the face of an angel bent over, and brushed soft lips against the man's forehead.
"Goodnight, daddy. I love you."