Ah... The ethereal thrill of death. To kill makes me more whole than I ever hope to be. For I save such a weary and pitiful soul from the snares of life and of its terrors.
I didn't mean to kill her, but the will of death is greater than mine, and that which I want makes no more meaning than a cock's crow in the evening of the day.
I had awoken from an evening's power nap. My bones were stiff and my mind was empty. I stared at the clock, its fingers red from the blood of a foolish child who seemed to be too curious about me. The clock smiled at me, speaking the rhymes of 5 o'clock.
I stared at the jagged knife at the foot of the bed. I shrugged away the thought of putting a soul out of misery. My strong hands lifted me up from the bird, my throat craved water in gargantuan amounts. The water was cold and dry as I loved it to be. I felt each drop trickle down my throat, into my stomach.
The thought came again, stronger than ever. I could keep it back no more, the next three minutes I was in the street.
I smiled at the old woman in the shop next to my house, she was a frail old lady with a knack for cold liquids. I promised her a drink when I returned. As I got to the main road, I was faced with the mythical decision you see in the movies: left or right, up or down... And as usual, wouldn't the angel whisper right or up and the demon left or down? Oh well, I went left.
I didn't notice her till she was close by, hair gleaming in the sun, her smile as white as an angel's underwear. Despite this, she isn't a very beautiful person, with freckles afflicting a calm face.
We didn't talk much, she saw my walks as my meditating period and would leave me to myself. In a bid to depart, we hugged and I closed my eyes, whispering, "I love you".
She didn't reply. I wasn't angry... Twas a bit of sadness and pain. I knew I'd do it. She was a tad bit unlucky.
I pushed the knife through the back of her neck swiftly, its jagged edges making the entry difficult, yet perfect. Its tip jutted out the front of her neck, nicking the side of my neck
The pleasure from my wound was unbearable, I shuddered in ecstasy feeling the blood run down my neck, into my white shirt. Not wanting to miss the sight, I pulled back and glanced at her.
The blood came in spurts, not exactly perfect, but satisfying nonetheless. Her eyes scrunched up in pain for a brief moment, then widened in terror.
When the windpipe is broken, the person loses the ability to breathe and chokes, a feeling akin to drowning.
She gurgled up blood in a bid to speak. As she fell forward, I stepped forward, supporting her. The warm blood tricked down my shirt. Nothing felt more alive, feeling life drain out of her. I stared at her face and saw nothing there save despair.
In the briefest of moments, I saw her mouth, "I love you too", but hell, it was too late. She should have said it when I told her I loved her.
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