"Ahhh," I say aloud, although I know she can't reply, "this is life."
I take another step towards her, dangling from her arms by chains like a piece of butcher's meat. I smile in arousal, seeing the blood mix with fresh tears on her face. She looks at me with pleading eyes, wanting to beg me to let her go, but she is gagged and helpless. Totally under my control. Her life is in my hands.
I love it.
"Many would say that you've never lived until you've watched another die." I run my blade along her cheeks, drawing more thin lines of blood on her soft skin. "Have you ever watched someone die?"
She futilely tries to struggle and free herself, to put some distance between her supple skin and my honed knife, but to no avail. I can't help but smile at her efforts. How adorable it is that she thinks she can get out of this alive. Such innocence and naivete. I chose her well.
"I have." I begin pacing in front of her like a monologuing villain, smiling to myself. "I have seen men die, and I've seen women die. Death is just a fact of life, but people don't seem to get that it's perfectly natural. Instead they fear it, like it's some sort of untamed beast."
I turn on my heel to face her, grinning widely as I spot the terror in her eyes. She quivers in fear, tears streaming down her face, as I step close to her. I put my face beside hers and whisper into her ear.
"I'm going to kill you."
She tries to kick me, but I'm ready for her, moving around her body before she can bring her knee up. My knife slides in through her ribs at the back. Her body shudders and she tries to cry out in agony as I hold her close, my breath on her neck.
"Shhh, it's alright," I try to comfort her as she coughs up blood, her lung collapsing. "Death isn't so scary, is it? Some might even say they want it..."
I release her from my grasp, listening to her frantic ragged breaths as I look down at the blood staining my clothes and my skin. "Hmmm, I should have worn a different shirt," I complain to no one in particular as her lifeblood pools out onto the floor below.
Moving around in front of her, I tenderly lift her chin to meet my eyes and watch the last bit of light leave them. "See?" I gently chide her dead body, cradling her face in my hands. "It was desirable, wasn't it?"
**********************************************************************
Groaning, I pull the covers tighter over my head to block out the screaming from downstairs. Sarah was at it again.
I hear my parents yelling at her to stop, and her crying and screaming at them, "let me go! I want this! I hate you!"
My stomach rumbles and I know I will have to brave going into the kitchen eventually. Sighing, I wrap my comforter around me and shuffle down the stairs.
"Call an ambulance!" the screaming continues, this time from my mother, the urgency stopping me dead in my tracks. I hear my father's rushed footsteps run into the next room, towards the phone, and I dare to peek in the doorway to the kitchen.
Blood. Everywhere. A bloody kitchen knife on the floor. Large gashes across my sister's wrists, the hot red liquid pouring down her arms, staining her t-shirt crimson. I see my mother trying to subdue Sarah as she screams and fights toward the knife on the floor. Her eyes meet mine and I feel panic rise in me.
"Heather!" She shrieks at me, "help me!"
I stand there frozen in my terror, my head swimming at the sight and smell of blood covering the kitchen tiles. My father rushes in, spotting me, and gently goads me away from the kitchen.
"Heather, no!" My sister screams, desperately fighting against my mother. "I want this! Help me! Let me die!"
My father takes me to the front doorway and kneels down in front of me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Heather, sweetie, I need you to stay right here," he explains, speaking loudly, trying to drown out the screaming coming from the kitchen, "and show the policemen and paramedics to the kitchen when they come here."
He turns and gets up quickly, moving fast to help his wife control his eldest daughter. I am left staring at the front door, trying to ignore my sister pleading for me to help her end her life.
**********************************************************************
Golden Grahams? Check. Milk? Check. Hands cleaned? I look down at my hands, still stained with blood from last night's handiwork. Damn.
Putting down my cereal bowl, I make a beeline for the kitchen sink, scrubbing vigorously to eliminate the evidence. Satisfied, I return to my breakfast and collapse on the couch, casually flicking on the news.
"Police are investigating a body that was found early this morning in a quarry off Stagecoach Road."
I turn the volume up. This is gonna be good.
"Reports say that a woman suffered multiple lacerations and was stabbed in the back. This is the fourth similar murder in the last month, causing officials to believe connections between them all."
"Multiple lacerations and stabbed in the back?" I say aloud to myself, taking another massive bite of cereal. "That makes me sound boring and sneaky."
"The Chief of Police has made an official statement regarding the recent murders," the tv droned on.
"We admit that there are several connections between the murder this morning and other similar occurrences this month," the Police Chief says, his monotone voice droning on and on. I tune him out and finish my cereal. "However, this 'Ottawa Slayer' will be brought to justice. Thank you."
I mute the tv, my jaw dropping open in disbelief. "The Ottawa Slayer?!" I repeat to myself incredulously. "What he he'll kind of name is that?!" Angry now, I throw my empty cereal bowl at the tv screen. It doesn't even dent it.
"Damn them!" I stand up, angrily pacing. "I'm not some common 'slayer,' don't they understand? I'm just giving people what they want! Deep down, it's what everyone wants! I should be called something cool, like the 'teacher' or the 'reaper!'"
I stop dead in my tracks. "Reaper, eh?" I stroke an imaginary beard as if I was a cheesy cartoon villain. "I quite like that...
"The Ottawa Reaper!" I say extravagantly, waving my hand dramatically as if expecting my name to be following it in a trail of light. "Got a nice ring to it!"
After all, I'm only giving people what they want, right? Everyone wants to die, they just don't all know it yet. And me? I enjoy making them realize it.
I move over to my desk and pull out my articles, revelling in the ecstasy of the memories they hold. Ahhh, my first kill. She was so beautiful, with her brown eyes and her red hair. She looked so much like my sister... So I slit her wrists and watched her bleed to death. My second, I cut his wrists too. By the time my third rolled around, I wanted to try other methods. Slitting her throat proved too messy and difficult to clean. This one, through the ribs, seemed to work a lot better. What shall I try next?
My mind races excitedly as I brainstorm my next victim. I should choose a guy next. Maybe I'll castrate him and see how long it takes him to bleed out, or maybe I'll just cut the femoral artery. He will pray for death before long. It will become a desirable thing, and he will not fear it. He will welcome it. Want it. All thanks to me.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
