They looked at me in disgust. Why didnít I join them, They had asked. But
it was all fake. They knew as well as I did that They did not want me there.
So I left. Once I was swallowed by the darkness, out of sight, but still
capable of eavesdropping on Them, I stopped. Turned back, hid within the
night. Heís such an idiot, They said. If only They knew. They turned around;
their backs were facing me. The perfect time to strike. I reached into my
jacket pocket and extracted my dart gun. It made three hisses as I pulled
the trigger three times. All three of Them fell down. I woke up the girl
first. She thought I was there saving her, and a combined look of happiness
and disgust crossed her face. She looked at her companions, and saw them
lying there, unconscious. Once she saw the knife in my hand, a look of
horror came on her face. She stumbled up, but it was too late. Her first
step put her right foot on the blade of my knife. She gave a shrill scream.
An animal, I thought. Thatís what it sounded like. Violently, I yanked my
knife out of her foot, and brought it down upon her face, taunting her,
making her cringe in fear. Once she realized who I really was, and what had
just happened, she stayed motionless, too scared to put up a fight. So I
gouged her left eye out. She screamed, to no avail, and then I dug my knife
into the juicy flesh of her neck. A pool of blood enshrouded her while she
took her last breaths. The boy came second. Merely a toddler, he was. Ten?
Eleven? Doesnít matter now. I hid my knife, and punched him in the face. He
woke up sweating, like he had a bad dream. I, of course, played along. Itís
only a dream, I said. He seemed terrified, but in his eyes there was the
everlasting glint of superiority. I can control the dream, he said. I
punched him in the nose, breaking it, covering it in the girlís blood. Then
he saw her, and screamed. It was time. I uncovered the knife and removed his
tongue. Tears were streaming down his face. So was blood. I scarred his
cheeks lightly, then slit his !
The boy trembled. It reminded me of a fish, dying without water. Then he
fell limp. I looked over at the other boy, about 14 years old. The light in
his pocket gave it away. He was conscious, and using his phone. He turned
into a statue once he saw my cold glance, trying to hide it. It was futile.
I chopped his head off in one fell swoop, taking no pleasure, then took his
phone and saw what he was doing, even though I already knew. Sirens were
wailing in the distance, approaching rapidly. There was nothing left to do,
but to give in.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Peter Barker.
Published on e-Stories.org on 01/28/2011.