Malec Shorts

Dripping Blood (Part two)

Warning: Violence and blood and more blood and even more blood. You'll love it. Enjoy.

Morning. Ah, what a terrible morning it was. The sun was up early today, as it was only seven o'clock. Normally I would wake up much earlier, -much earlier- but I had been up until four last night, and I can't expect to be able to murder people with such little rest. No, wouldn't want to disappoint the citizens. Who would it be today? I had taken so many lives, so many. I even had a list. I added Clarissa Fray's name to the list in my scraggly handwriting. It was color coordinated, too. Blue for under fifteen years old, red for sixteen to thirty, green for thirty-one to fifty, and black for anyone over that age. Children under five had a color too, but I had lost that pen, so I just added them to blue. They had been written in orange ink, but I only had three names written in that color before I lost the pen. It wasn't like I murdered children often. Only sometimes. The people needed to know that no one was off-limits. I think I had only killed twelve since I started doing this three years ago.

I had an entire notebook and a half-filled of people. The news was correct, I had murdered only seventy-three people so far this year, but it was only May. I had time to do much, much more than that.

...

"It's Bloody Rose!"

"Call the police!"

"He's here!"

"Relax, relax, you kind people," I spoke cooly, sliding my scarred fingers over the long jagged blade in my hands. "No reason to get so worked up, my dears,"

The people stared at me, several with phones pressed to their ears, talking frantically-oh, so frantically- into the phone.

I took a step toward a mother pushing a baby- a very small bay- in a carriage. The mother only stood there and stared at me in horror as I twisted the blade in my hands. "Such a beautiful child you have here, Ma'am," I told the lady, stroking the baby's cheek gently, very gently, who giggled playfully.

"Hey!" A male voice shouted. "Leave them alone!"

"Or..." I drew out the word, a smile creeping upon my face. "What?"

The man pulled a gun out of his pocket. Wow, since when do New Yorkers carry guns with them to work? He aimed it at me, his hands shaking oh so slightly. "Don't make me pull the trigger."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Ah, yes, because I believe that such a civilized young man like yourself-how old are you? Twenty?- would pull the trigger on me. We all know I'm quite irresistible, don't we? How could you even rob the world of the pleasure of these gorgeous blue eyes?" I fluttered my eyelashes. I loved playing the I-am-too-good-for-this-world act. Very entertaining.

"I'll do it."

I tilted my head, scanning him up and down with my eyes. "Will you, now?"

His lower lip trembled. He flipped the safety off of the gun, stepped forward, pressed it against my chest. I grinned. It was adorable, really. He had the power to kill me, right here, with the simple pull of a trigger, knowing that I had taken countless lives and would continue to take more, yet he did not pull the trigger.

I clicked my tongue. "No, no, no, this won't do," I frowned at the young man. "You're holding the gun wrong. If you're going to kill me, at least do it right." It was deadly-and I do mean deadly- quiet in the city, which I don't think had ever happened before. I should win a medal for that. I reached over and fixed the man's grip on the gun, and he let me do so, probably shocked that I made no move to hurt him, or at least try and stop him from hurting me. "Much better. Now, go on. Go on ahead. Squeeze your finger. You can close your eyes if you'd like. Probably make it much easier to kill me,"