Long Island Iced Tea

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story I wrote for an English assignment for school. It contains some violence, so I think R rated is appropriate. I don't want to say to much of it's content, as it may ruin things if you want to read it. So I'll leave it at that.

Submitted: January 22, 2012

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Submitted: January 22, 2012




There are first times for everything. First steps, first kiss, first words, first love. Some firsts, are more important than others. Some really don't matter at all, seemingly insignificant. Some we all experience, and some are rarities. Some firsts leave us torn, some good, some bad. Some firsts, we want to shout out to the world about. Some are kept quiet, and in the dark. Funny thing firsts, how we remember them so clearly. Firsts are what set things off, they put the world in motion. Firsts start a chain reaction. First becomes second, second becomes third, and third becomes fourth and so on. Firsts are important. They paint the way, set a base for whats to come. The seconds may not be as exactly as the firsts. The first time of doing something is often clumsy, but one learns. But firsts will often give an indication of how you will be doing things the second, third, and fourth time around. You add your own personal touch, in some things, more than others. But more than anything, firsts are milestones in your life. Something to be remembered, to look back on. If you have done something a million times before, you probably won't remember every detail, from every time. Therefore, we look back on our first time doing it, flawed and clumsy as it may be. Personally, I don't look back on a lot of firsts, but there is one first I will never forget. The most important one of my life. It happened in my early twenties, while I was a pre-med at Long Island University, working in a bookstore to make ends meet. Well, not that I ever had any problems with money. My father has always had plenty. What I mean when I say ends meet is that I have a certain amount more of money, then the amount of necessity. Anyways, as I was saying, at the time of this particular first, I was living in Long Island. I had just moved away from my parents, but they weren't living far away. I was still receiving money from them on a monthly basis. A fair replacement of them never coming to visit. Of course, we met on holidays, birthdays and so on, in order to keep up facades I guess. I never really understood the point of it all though. It all seemed, and still seems, so meaningless. All this social mingling with people whom you don't care for, and people who don't care for you. Never quite got it, and was never good at it either. Social mingling that is. Ever since I was a little kid, I remember being, well, different. I don't look different, nor do I particularly seem different at the first glance. I look just like any normal person I'm made up of flesh and blood. You may look at me, see my long black hair, and gaze into my green eyes, and think that we are alike. But we're not. What you see is merely the exterior. You don't know what's lurking behind that innocent smile of mine. I may have seemed like an odd kid at worst. Maybe slightly socially awkward, but I never had anything seriously distinct about me. I kept to myself, don't think anyone ever took any particular notice, or interest in me. I always behaved well, and I did well in school, but my mind had a tendency to wander. Like now, it has wandered from first times, to childhood reminiscing. Usually my mind wanders to something else entirely. Something connected to this first time. This first time, happening in Long Island USA, in the year 2009, in the month of July, during my summer holiday. I'm not quite sure what set things in motion, what started it all, other than the thoughts of doing it, had been present long before I acted on them. But enough beating around the bush. I planned the first time thoroughly. I don't quite know what set it in motion. All I know is that it happened sometime after my birthday, yet another social mingling I'd rather avoid. As I said, I planned it well, so that nothing could possibly go wrong. First, I chose the location. Location is vital! I needed a place a little off the beaten path, somewhere quiet and remote. One place in Long Island came to mind, and that was the Long Island ghost town, a set of buildings awaiting demolition. It would take care of all evidence that might be left behind. Not that I needed that. I wouldn't leave any trace. The next step was finding him. I don't know why, but it had to be a he, a male. Turns out, I didn't have to find him. He came to me, in a restaurant, Mama Mia's ristorante to be more specific. I don't know how I knew, but he was the one. I think it was how he treated his kids, as if they weren't even there. I didn't like it, not one bit. I followed him around for days. I had to know for sure, that this was the guy, how his mind worked, his habits. And he was perfect. He was a rather handsome man in the middle of his forties, and quite the workaholic. Green eyes, dark hair, about 6 ft. After the third day, I finally approached him. He was in a bar, probably taking a break from his life as a workaholic. I felt like I already knew him, and yet, he didn't know the first thing about me. Nor was he ever going to. I walked up to the bar, where he was sitting, drinking what looked like vodka, introducing myself “Hi there stranger, I'm Leila”. No need to hide my identity, he wouldn’t know of me for long anyways.“ Nice to meet you Leila, I'm Richard”. Of course I already knew his name, but he didn't know that, and he didn't need to know it either. After about 20 minutes of meaningless chit chat, and some more drinking, I dropped of a hint to go somewhere more private. Of course he took the bait right away, intoxicated as he was. Plus he was a man. Men are easy, especially if you are a rather good looking girl, which I am. We continued too my car, I hadn't been drinking yet, so of course I offered to drive . He had failed to notice me, slipping a little something into his Long Island Iced Tea, about 5 minutes before we left. I could already notice him beginning to get a little disconnected. If I was right, he would pass out at about 2-3 minutes from the Ketamine I had nicked from my dads office(my dads a doctor, and I happen to have a set of keys to his office, but he has no idea that I have them, and he doesn't need to). I unlocked the car doors, and just about when he was about to sit down, he collapsed. I closed the door, looked around, making sure no one saw. Then I drove.


The man was slowly starting to open his eyes. He looked hazed, confused. Of course, he would be. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, what I had planned for him, all though he would soon find out. I imagine, when you wake up in chains, in a dark a dark room, covered in plastic sheets, you kind of put two and two together. Even if he wouldn't, I would put it together for him. “ Hello, Richard, time to wake up sleepy head”, I whispered in his ear. He was still disoriented, but he was starting to become more awake by the minute. “W-where am I”, he said with a shaky voice. “ In a house, somewhere between Court Square and Queensboro Plaza”. “W-why”, I cut him off before he could finish that sentence. “ Really, you don't have anything more creative in mind? Where am I? Why am I here? What do you want? Buhuu”, I said, mimicking a person in despair, in a rather comical way. The look on his face was priceless. A mix between someone insulted, and someone about to shit his pants. I couldn't help but smile. “ I was going to ask, why me? Why did you pick me?”. Well, sort of half-way original, but not quite. “ Look, you can try and stall, and talk your way out of this anyway you want. It won't work, I make the decisions here, I decide what happens to you, your petty life, and how it ends. If I want, I can shut you up right now, but what fun would that be?”. “ Look, I can give you money, if that is what you want. Just name a price, I can give it to you”. “ You sound just like my father. You two think that you can just buy your way out of anything, but guess what. It's not gonna work. I don't want your money”. The man was starting too look desperate. He was out of bargaining pleas. I felt a rush of power looking upon his scared face, even though I hadn't made him scream. Yet. “If you dislike your father so much, then why don't you kill him?”. This man just didn't give up, did he? What was he hoping to accomplish? That I would let him go, and kill my father instead? Hah! He could only wish. Well, at least he had put two and two together. He realized that I was here to kill “ Listen here Richard, for the people I really want to feel my wrath, death is too kind. I have a whole other plan for my father”, I burst out laughing at his confused expression. “ Hahah, could you imagine? No, but really. The reason to not go after my father is simple, motive”. Richard seemed like a smart man, but in case he didn't understand, I explained a little further. “ It's never a good idea to kill people you know, it gives you motive. The police sees that motive. Therefore, killing a stranger is much easier. No relations, no motive”. “ But enough chit chat, and blabber”. I pulled out my handgun from my purse. “ You see this? This is a gun, but it's not for you”. “ I don't follow?”, the mans voice was shaking. “This gun is for whoever might walk by, unlikely as that scenario might be, and hear your screams. Now this, however, THIS is for you”. I pulled out a plane, commonly used in woodshop, used for shaping large pieces of wood. Carving out pieces of it. “ I won't scream you know, if that is what you want, I want give you that satisfaction!!”, the man yelled. Hah, he thought this was about me making him scream, I had already frightened him. Whether or not he would scream now, was irrelevant, but I bet he would. “ SHUT YOUR MOUTH, OR I CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE!”, I yelled, again. I felt a flash of power run through me. It was almost euphoric! I placed the plane on his back, and shoved it in an upward notion. He let out a scream, and blood started to show. I knew I could make him scream! And the position I had chained him in, it was perfect! It was like he was standing normally, giving me access to every part of his body, it was genius! I placed the plane on his back again, this time shoving it downward. He let out another scream, blood was flowing from his back. “PLEASE, STOP, NO MORE!”. There was the desperation I had been looking for. I walked around to the other side of him, looking him into the eyes as I placed the plane on his stomach. “ Please, please don't! I beg you!”. I shoved the plane up his stomach. “PLEASE, JUST KILL ME!” His eyes were now turned away from me. He didn't show me his fear. I didn't like that. Not one bit. “LOOK AT ME!”, I demanded. He refused me. He dared refuse ME! For that he would pay dearly! Nobody refuses me like that! Ignores me like that, and gets away! I took out a chisel, and hammer from my box of “tools”. “Your eyes refuse too see anything but yourself, and your ugly reflection. You don't even see your kids. Now you refuse to see me too. What good are your eyes for?” I placed the chisel under his eye, and hit it with the hammer, making his eye pop out. Blood streaming down his cheek. His screams grew louder and louder. They filled my ears. Such a giving sound, pleasing somehow. I repeated with the other eye. The man was begging me to kill him. But I would be the one to decide when he should go, not him! I grew more and more irritated at his useless pleas. I took out my knife, cut out his tongue, and threw it across the room! I took out my machete, and severed his head from his body. His screams fading, forever quieted by me. The room was painted red with his blood. It was everywhere. It was beautiful. I got a weird impulse, something unexpected. I wanted to keep it, the head. Eyeless, and bodiless as it was, I wanted it for my own, so I took it. Chopping up the rest of the body in tiny pieces. Placing them meticulously, so no one could ever find the whole thing . I don't know why I wanted it, the head, I just did. Now it decorates my freezing-room, along with a dozen others, and many more to come. The best part is that nobody has even the slightest clue, that someone is roaming the streets of Long Island, killing useless, self-absorbed men. I'm too thorough to get caught. The only risk is the heads in my freezing-room. I often joke around with visitors, after inviting them for Long Island Iced tea, saying that I have heads in there. And they ask “cabbage heads?”, and I just nod my head, laughing on the inside of their lack of knowledge of what really is located behind that locked door. What kind of heads that is really lurking in my apartment, which only a select few, will ever know. A dead few. 

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