Do you have what it takes...
I lick my lips absently. The news reporter on the television drones on about a chain of homicides that have occurred in the area.
"..the police say that these eight murders seem to be random and completely unconnected. There are no leads whatsoever on the motive. The police are, in fact, still unsure as to whether or not this is the work of a single person. If there is more than one murderer, are they working together or acting alone?"
I sigh and roll my eyes, turning to my companion. "This is so stupid. The police can't do anything. They're useless!"
"Well, they don't know anything, so of course they can't make a move yet," he counters.
"Ethan, it doesn't even seem like they're trying to do anything. Seven murders ago, they said they, quote unquote, 'wouldn't let the killer strike again'," I say, making quotation marks with my fingers. "Now, seven deaths later, they still haven't done anything. At all."
"It's not that easy," he sighs. "Look, if you're so fed up with their methods, why don't you become a police officer and change things from inside?"
I smile. "What a good idea! Except I'm already studying law."
"Police officers are law enforcement, right? So you can directly keep people within the bounds of the law," he points out smugly.
I roll my eyes again and shake my head. "No, I think I'll stick with being a boring lawyer."
He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I gotta get back to work. I'll see you later, okay?"
I smile and nod. "See you at home."
He leans down and kisses me quickly before sliding into his jacket and leaving with a smile and a wave. I wave back until he disappears into the crowd. Then I get up and pay for my coffee before returning to class.
"No...no, please! Please, I'll do anything! Here, you can take all my money! You can take everything! Just please, don't hurt me!" The woman sobs uncontrollably, backing away.
"Oh, I won't hurt you," I grin, "I'll kill you."
The knife slices down across her chest and she gasps, stumbling back.
I step back, looking over my handiwork. "Hm. It didn't splash the way I wanted to."
She's twitching and moaning softly, still alive on the ground, but the light in her eyes is dying. It's too quick, too easy. I need to make the most of her warmth before it's gone.
I lean down, reaching for her leg. She tries to move away but her strength is already gone. I lick my lips and gently yank up her leg, before taking the serrated knife and carefully tracing a rose in her skin. I watch in satisfaction as the blood dribbles out of the cuts, creating precisely the red rose that I envisioned.
I repeat my actions twice more on the same leg before moving on to the other one, where I draw long, curling vines of red. By the time I finish, she's dead and her body is starting to cool.
Cursing, I move faster, etching daisies and tulips on her arms before finally leaving my trademark Rafflesia on her stomach.
I stand up, admiring my art. This must be one of the best pieces I've ever made. Blood really is the best medium and skin really is the best canvas.
I clean my knife on her skirt before leaving, applauding myself for not getting even a single drop of red on myself. It would've been a shame for me to throw out my designer shirt all due to a speck of blood.
Then I leave as quietly as I came, excited for my masterpiece to be to be revealed to the world.
"Look, Ethan, another one," I say, pointing at our widescreen TV.
He follows my finger briefly before shaking his head. "You know, I'm starting to think you're right. The police are completely clueless."
"I told you so!" I gloat triumphantly. "But seriously, what are they doing? They haven't found anything yet?"
"Police have discovered an interesting similarity between the deaths. There appears to be a certain flower marked on each victim's body."
"And it took them nine deaths to see this?" I scoff in disbelief. "Are they freaking blind?"
"Police report that the coroner had, in fact, noticed this similarity early on, but did not want to mention it until he figured out exactly what flower it was. After much examination, the coroner told the police that the mark seems to be a Rafflesia, otherwise known as the corpse flower."
"Well, that's appropriate," I mutter.
Ethan sighs. "Look, just let the police do their work and you do yours, okay?"
"If they would just release pictures of the bodies, maybe someone would see other similarities," I grumble beneath my breath, ignoring him.
"And maybe the police doesn't want to scare everyone to death," Ethan says sharply.
I roll my eyes. "They can't be that bad."
He shifts in his seat to stare straight at me with an unreadable expression on his face. "You know, you seem really interested in the bodies. Why are you so eager to see them?"
"Are you trying to imply something? Are you trying to accuse me of something?" I challenge him, my temper flaring dangerously.
He shrugs. "Is there something to accuse you of?"
"How dare you!" I gasp.
"Hey, you said it, not me."
"Go to hell," I growl evenly before stomping upstairs to bed.
I tread softly into the room, the carpet muffling my footsteps. I look at the figure sleeping before me and smile.
Carefully, I pull out the rope and tie her hands and feet to the bed, spread-eagled.
I pull out my knife and slide the cold, flat blade along the column of her bare throat. She shivers and her eyes blink open sleepily. She tried to get up, but can't due to the ropes keeping her on the bed.
I chuckle. She's awake.
"Let me go!" She struggles on the bed, but the ropes are tight and unyielding. She glares at me. "Let me go, you bastard!"
I crawl above her, straddling her body. I tilt down and pull my hood and mask down before kissing her. When I pull back, her eyes grow wide with recognition.
"Ethan?" she gasps in horror, staring at my face uncomprehendingly.
Grinning, I lean forward and whisper in her ear, "You will be my ultimate masterpiece."
And then the knife plunges down and all I know is the sinful pleasure in her scream.
...to be a SERIAL KILLER?
A/N: LOL I don't even know.
Does this count as horror? -_- Also, there are like a billion plot holes already? What?
Write on. Read on. That's my motto.
© Copyright 2013 by The Siege