I laugh as I kill, the blood spattering on the concrete slabs beneath my feet. The knife, already bloodstained is now painted red with fresh killings. The victim takes her last, shuddering, shallow breath and with a choking gurgle mixed with the blood filling her lungs, dies. I grin savagely, still holding the gore I had pulled out of her slowly, cruelly. I leave the body lying there in the alley, spattering the innards around for a more dramatic effect. I pull the right eye out just before I leave, I always take a memento from my kills and I'm not about to stop now. I whistle tunelessly as I walk away, on the hunt for yet another victim.
I keep to the shadows, the knife hidden up my sleeve, lest a policeman walks by. I would kill him, but it would slow down tonight's proceedings, and I have a whole rampage to complete. A flickering street lamp illuminates the next street, so I smash it and put it out. I do not want to ruin the effect after all, and the shattered glass has drawn someone's attention. I smile cruelly and melt into the shadows, knife slipping from beneath my sleeve into my waiting hand. A lone man wanders into the deserted street, unarmed, defenceless, helpless, perfect.
I slink forward, keeping out of sight, the bloodlust driving me forward with such eagerness, like that of a lion hunting a zebra, only the urge to kill so much stronger, as I never need to stop. I smile and whistle behind him and he whirls, unable to see me, unable to hear me as my tread is so light.
“Who's there?” he calls out, but of course I do not reply. I drag my knife along the stone, he covers his ears at the screeching sound it makes. Big mistake.
I launch myself at him while he tries to recover, his ears ringing. I tackle him and sit on his chest. His eyes widen as he sees how much blood I am already covered in.
“You...” He whispers, terrified. I trace the shape of his face with the edge of my blade.
“Yes,” I purr, “and you know what is going to happen next, don't you?”
“Please!” He begs, as do most of my victims. I ignore him and lay my knife down for a moment, using my fingers to dig into his eye sockets and pull them out, he can still see, just. Perfect.
I grab my knife, and wasting no time, I slit open his chest swiftly and easily, like scissors cutting paper. I then snap his ribs apart, relishing the agonised screams that escape his lungs like wild animals. I grab his heart and his eyes, hanging from their sockets, and show him his beating, bloody heart. He screams and I yank his eyes out completely, then put a slit in each of his lungs so blood and air come gushing out in one glorious, bubbling, crimson flood. His death howls are more like wheezes now, and I am bored. I grab his dying, slowing heart and rip it free. I throw his ribs and squeeze blood around the street before I leave, whistling tunelessly, adding the heart to the ever growing collection of souvenirs.
Just another day in the life of me.
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