Somebody once told me, that there is evil in all of us. I never gave a shit about it and I never will. Probably it is because I never cared about all that morals shit, or maybe I don’t agree. There can’t be evil in all of us. Look at the little babies; they look so cute and innocent. None of that is my concern though.
“ You look really fucking innocent like a baby.”
She stares at me with blank eyes fill with horror, and mumbles, “Is it a good thing? Please don’t kill me, I beg.”
“Shut the fuck up bitch, you are ruining the mood.”
She is still tied on the chair with duct tape, her mascara dissolving on her face forming black tears. Her eyes are red from crying, her nose sound stuffed when she talks. I am setting across her on a chair, trying to be careful with the switchblade while playing it. The sound of her crying is getting annoying just a little bit. I wanted to yell shut up again to her face, but I like her crying. It sounds just desperate enough, real and not fake. I hate it when bitches try to fake crying, thinking you will give a damn. They are not fun.
I walk up behind her, slowly, taking my time. It may sound funny, but dramatization is everything. That’s what scares them to get the best effects. I think. I was never straight up, never tried. Takes out all the fun, I want to savor the little moments and emotions. I gather all her hair; jerk her head backwards by pulling it. I bend down a little, so she can stare up to my face. I move the knife to around her eyes area. She starts to mumble something again. Instead of cutting her, I dropped the knife on the floor, and slap her really hard with my bare hand. She chokes and makes a little grunting sound, so I hit her again, harder.
My hand is hurting because my fingers hit her cheekbones. It really fucking hurts. Stupid dumb bitch. Her head stays still on the side. I bend down; hold her head straight and I see a trace of blood running from her mouth. She looks at me, tears in her eyes, only sadness. Well, maybe she is scared as well. But I don’t know. She makes this little grunting sound in her mouth again.
“Did your teeth come off? Spit it out! Or you are going to choke and die bitch.”
She weakly shakes her head, looks up at me and said, “Why do you care? Don’t you want me dead?”
“You stupid piece of shit, you still don’t…. Right, because you are fucking retarded. I came all this trouble; no I don’t want you to die, like that. “
“Then let me…” she was going ask me to let her go again, but maybe she understood, and stopped half way.
“Whatever. Do what whatever you want as long as you don’t do some thing stupid. You know what I mean.” I look away and say, “You know what’s stupid right?”
I walk back away from her. The cabin is really quiet. Maybe wood absorbs some sound. I thought her desperate struggles would have sounded louder.
I take off my belt, and tuck my shirt back in. There is a mirror hanging on the wall, so I check my appearance. I look good. My hair has fallen just a little bit out of place, but it is fine. I use my hands to brush them back. I see what I see every morning I wake up. I see a nice looking man in his early 20s, with dark brown hair, tanned skin and blue eyes. I lift my shirt up and take a look at my abs. They seem fainter than before. Since she is here from yesterday, I couldn’t leave to work out. I am going to hit the gym tomorrow. Hopefully, maybe not.
I walk to the workbench, grab a handkerchief, a pair of scissors and a role of duct tape. I walk to her.
Her eyes stare at what I have. Her pathetic little mind is probably trying to make out what I am going to do. She looks calm, and that’s weird. It is annoying.
I throw what I have on the floor, and push her really hard on the shoulder. She falls on her back, the chair making a loud. She screams, but not loud.
I love her when she is frightened. I can see her fingers, they are moving, and so I assumed that her fingers are not broken. I step on her fingers really hard. I guess that really hurts so she screams very loudly. I stamp hard on her fingers again; this time she makes a little groaning sound. I think I found myself a fun new game. I stamp hard the third time, she yells, not loudly and stares at me.
“Where the fuck are you looking at bitch?” This time, I stamp hard on her belly. She makes a very funny sound when I do that. It is like a scream with no air. It is pretty funny. She coughs out loudly, turning her head away. This time I step on her ribs, not that hard, I don’t want to break her ribs and kill her before I can properly do it. She screams and gasps at the same time, then coughs up some blood. I look down at the red haired girl grunting and breathing heavily. This bitch looks just like her like that. Just like her. I hated it when she was upset or in pain.
I stare at her face. I can almost see her face. I feel like if something is blocking my throat and I can’t breath. Warm liquid drips down my face. Damn it, why do I cry every time I think of her?
I walk around her body, till I am standing above and directing facing her face that is resting on its side on the ground. I bend down and look at her face that’s in pain carefully with my tears filled eyes. My vision is blurring.
She looks at me with shock. Then a smile creeps up to her face, and she spits on to my face. It’s disgusting.
I go and pick up the handkerchief and wipe my face with it. I rolled it into a ball, stuffed it into her mouth, and seal it shut using the duct tape and scissors. She really gets to my nerves them time. I have been doing my best to tolerate her. She really crossed the line. Stupid dumb bitch, I have to kill you now.
“You could have had more time to live, but it is all over now. I thought you would be the one, but you failed. This is going to be your own grave that you dug.”
I don’t give a shit about what she looks like what she feels now. It is all over. Bitch ruined it. Killed it. The fury is burning inside my head like a fire. It’s like a voice screaming in mind saying and repeating, “kill her, kill her! That bitch isn’t worth it! She disrespects you and betrayed what you want her to be just like her! You have got to kill her! She deserves it!”
What do I do? I do what I want to do on impulse. I walk to the corner of the cabin, and picks up the can of gasoline I took with me. I pour them on to her face. I can kind of hear her choke and muffled screams. At least that’s what I make out it is. I pour the gasoline all over her. I like the smell of it.
She is twitching and shaking and whimpering like a hurt little animal. I walk out of the cabin, and broke a branch from the nearest tree I see just in front of the door. I proceed to pour gasoline all over the cabin, all over the walls and one the floor. I walk to the door area, which is clean of gasoline and take out the lighter I keep in my chest pocket. I light the branch on fire after I dipped in in a bit of gasoline.
The fire is warm and orange. It lights up the entire room beautifully. The flames are little angles dancing on the branch, jumping, and twinkling. I throw the branch toward the red haired shuddering bitch. It lands on her chest and sets her clothes on fire. Quickly follows her hair. I use my phone and take a photo of the burning girl, and quickly walk out and close the door behind me. I don’t want the fire to get to me and I hate the smell of burning protein.
I stare at the burning cabin. It is stunningly beautiful. I like fire because of its contradictory effects. It kills and saves. The house is all burning down. Smoke is getting to me. I run to my car start up and start to drive away. Tonight’s “We Are Young” is playing on the radio. “So we will set the world on fire”. How appropriate. “We” I thought. What if I had a partner in crime? Like that will happen. I laugh at my thought. I look in the reflection mirror, and I can kind of see dark smoke. I wish I didn’t set the woods on fire. I like the woods.
I pull up the next pay phone I find next to the highway and decide to make a call. I put on my gloves. It is kind of cold outside. A little bit.
“This is 911 what is your emergency?”
“ I think I saw some black smoke when I was driving down the highway. I think there could be a forest fire….”
© Copyright 2016 BellaBlackwood. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Short Story / Young Adult
Short Story / Mystery and Crime
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