There it was lying there, just taunting me with the way it glimmered in the light above. It stood with its tip mounted into the wooden cutting board next to some perfectly sliced tomatoes. My hand eerily reached towards the butcher knife, but the softest of sounds, not even loud enough to be called a whisper, stopped my hand midair.
"No.", the soft voice breathed. My hand reluctantly retreated as my head angled itself towards the source of the almost inaudible sound.
There stood my best friend with her eyes narrowed on me. I could see that she didn't want or trust me with that knife, but she didn't understand the desire that I had towards the knife. She didn't comprehend the ominous cloud of darkness inside of me, taking over my inner soul. I desperately needed that knife; I required that butcher knife to ease the pain of what was inside of me. How could she not understand? Did she not have this same internal feeling?
Without thinking, I lurched towards the butcher knife and my hands clasped the cool, black handle of what was now a weapon. I jumped onto my shell-shocked best friend and fastened her body to the floor with my knees as my arms flew to the counter and grasped a towel. Before she could start screaming, I forced the towel into her mouth and watched her eyes widen in fright and then slowly change to the look of betrayal. She kicked and screamed but she accomplished nothing from her petty attempts. The house was empty, no one would know.
My hand tensed around the knife's handle, and I sliced her blue plaid shirt down the middle and ripped it off along with her bra. I smiled at the sight in front of me; her pale skin made for a decent canvas. With my knees placed on her arms, I leaned over her fidgeting body and started my work. The blade danced across her body creating breathtaking artwork. As the blade punctured her skin, the blood slowly oozed out of the precise cuts and created what I like to think of as a masterpiece.
Each slice that I made into her pearly white skin proved itself worthy when a muffled scream came from behind the dainty dish towel. Every now and then a scream would become too audible, and I would have to press one of my hands onto her mouth while the other composed the specific design that I had prepared for a time like this.
After what seemed like an hour of definite cuts and slices, my best friends body stopped moving all together, and I stood up to have the first view of my achievement. It was magnificent; I could have stared at it forever. I looked upon Page Elizabeth Dorvon's body with her black hair sprawled just perfectly to make the masterpiece just right.
I walked triumphantly down the hallway to my room, stopping in the middle to investigate myself in front of the full body mirror. My wavy blond hair was stained red from the thick liquid still oozing from Page's body. My hands were also covered in blood, as were my white jean shorts and baby blue tank top. A greedy smile forced itself upon my face as I assessed all the blood on me. My arm made it to my face, and I smelled it. Oh, how I loved the smell of blood.
I put down my arm and continued walking towards my room. I rummaged through my hand-me-down dresser until my hands came across the thing I was searching for. I ambled my way back to Page's lifeless body and lifted up the camera. I made my way around her body until I found the best way to take the picture. Standing on top of the couch, I leaned over Page and snapped my masterpiece. The camera pushed the picture out and I waited anxiously for the masterpiece to become clear. Ah, there it was, perfect in every way possible.
Picture in my hand, I walked back to my room and grabbed the shoebox from underneath my bed. I opened the shoebox and threw the picture in along with the others. I smiled for the darkness inside of me has been appeased. For now.