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Blinking in the pitch darkness read 2:16 am. Dead silence engulfed the neighborhood with a dreary presence as all the people were off in different worlds in the deep corners of their minds. A breeze, an occasional clink, and the sounds of stray animals running amuck were the only sounds heard in the dead of the night.

A sudden tune, once heard in dreams, in childhoods, maybe in circuses, appears in the calm air. Sweet music heard in the gloomy atmosphere, one that would often attract small people and draw people in. At 2:17 in the morning.

The driver is quiet, his hands firmly locked on the steering wheel. His focus is unbreakable and unearthly. His auburn hair, tassled, perceived a wild look, yet complimented the rest of his features. His breath, ragged, excited at the thought of a new toy to play with, sounded restless. He pulled in to the curb, and the tune died out. All was quiet once more. The breeze remained. Another clink next to an alley way. All seemed peaceful.

Ten minutes passed. Nothing had come his way. As he sat waiting, his mind raced with all the ideas of what he would do. This time, he thought, he should start with the arms. He has never done it that way before. He wondered how his toy would react. He loved his toys and enjoyed playing with them, but he always seemed to break them. He could never handle the joy he possessed, and sometimes he just got out of control. So many knives to use, and the toys came with so many different phrases. He loved each one.

Twenty minutes passed. His breath sped up with each moment that had passed. His fingers ran through his hair and clenched on the wheel afterwards. Slowly, he bit his bottom lip to the point of blood in anticipation. The taste of copper in his mouth drove him wild. He could wait no longer.

Thirty minutes passed. Just at the brink of insanity, shadows appeared. The man straightened his posture and watched intently as a gang of teenage boys appeared. He tensed up. There were too many. Just as he was about to lose hope, a small boy no older than eight seemed to be following one of the teenagers. His appearance was very similar to the teenager. A little brother. Perfect.

The little boy was straggling behind, obviously trying not to be caught by his brother for his curiousity. The truck rose back to life as the teenagers disappeared and made its way slowly towards the boy.

The boy heard the sound of an ice cream truck coming. His eyes lit up. He wore nothing but pajamas, as he had snuck out of the house to find out where his brother had gone. His curly, blond hair was in the way of his innocent, blue eyes. He turned around in awe to find a mysterious figure in an ice cream truck heading his way. He deliberated whether he should follow his brother or wait for the ice cream man.

Slowly, the ice cream man pulled in next to the boy, eyes hidden, and gave the boy a smile he couldn't resist. The boy just stared with his mouth open at the figure.

"What flavor do you like?" The voice was low, but soft, somewhat melodic. The boy did not reply. The man stood up in his seat and opened the side door. "Why don't you come in and see what flavors you have?" The little boy reluctantly and cautiously stepped forward, but not into the truck. The man tilted his head.

"What's wrong? Don't you want ice cream? My children love ice cream." With that, the man pulled out a torn wallet from his packet and flipped out pictures of children. All looks had been somewhat surprised and dazed. The boy stared at them for a moment before looking up at the man again. His curiousity got the better of his judgement, and he hopped in the van.

"You have a lot of kids," he whispered slowly to the man. The figure smirked once more, differently this time, before looking away. He showed the boy to the freezer. "Here you go," the man said, "Just... open it." The little boy swallowed, his dry mouth open once again with nothing to say. Slowly, his small fingers pried open the freezer door and the truck was engulfed in a brilliant flash of light

The boy, stunned, tripped backwards over his own feet but was caught in the arms of the man. He opened his mouth to scream, but the man's hand beat him to it. All that got out was a terrified squeak. Everything went dark, and the man chuckled deeply at his new toy. This was going to be a fun one.

He dragged the innocent boy to a table in the back. Locking the boy's limbs with restraints and stuffing a giant rag in his mouth, the man returned to the steering wheel and drove farther down to an alley, smiling to himself. The boy was paralyzed with fear, his eyes streaking a waterfall of salty tears down his face. Screaming endlessly in the rag, his screams were muffled. It was pointless. The boy was trapped.

The man took a turn past the alley to an abandoned house, his excitement getting the best of him. He pulled in to the driveway and quietly turned off the engine. Afterwards, he made his way to back to retrieve the boy and his supplies, mumbling his mixed thoughts of ideas.

Unbolting the table from the wall, he carried it out of the truck and towards the front door of the house. Kicking the door, it swung wide open. The full moon appeared casting ghastly shadows over his strong features. Once inside, he placed the table on the floor and took out the supplies.

To start with, he grasped a small rusty pocketknife from his supply kit and decided to cut a long gash down the boy's left arm. Digging it deeply into the muscle, he sliced cleanly through the tissure The boy's eyes, wide, expressed not only fear, but immense pain. The man smiled at the trickling of blood that had formed onto a pool on the floor at his feet. The boy trembled, shivers shaking his body, and his young life slipping past his eyes. The man only continued next with a larger blade stabbing the area above his knee cap. The boy cried, the rag suffocating the shriek for help.

The man, this time, took out a pair of thick, leather gloves as well as his favorite "tool." Slowly, he lifted up a rather small piece of dry ice. The boy did not know what it was. The man lifted up the boy's shirt and placed the dry ice on his stomach, pulling and tearing the skin off. The boy seemed shattered.

The man's final torturous move. He removed the largest knife he possessed and slowly saw off the boy's left arm. The boy was unconscious at this moment. The moon cast a glow through the window, illuminating his glittering, green eyes to appear like emeralds. His look, bewildered, was beyond inhumane. He lifted the now sawed off limb in his hand. He stared intently at it, feeling pain, his chest clenching up. He became angry, his hands grasping the arm tightly to hear the crunching of the bone.

Throwing it aside, he proceeded in his work.

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