What He Wished For

He expected the young boy to be distraught at the sight of his mutilated parent's bodies, disassembled and mutilated on the cold cement floor. But, to the killer's horror, the boy started to laugh. "Just what I wished for."

Heart in his mouth, the man ran through the hallways, the overhead lights giving off a rancid green look that you could practically smell. Damp, cracked walls of the abandoned factory had shafts and holes all over, which the murderer was all too used to hopping over.

This routine was not new to the man. Kill the loved ones, kidnap the survivor, torture until suicide. As you do. But this.... this was a whole new chapter. No, a whole new book. Yeah book.

Rounding the corner, the man's plimsols squeaked terribly against the uneven ground as he heard the boy's voice.

"I wish... your hideaway betrayed you."

Stupid fucking theatre kid.

The fuck did he mean, hideaway. This ain't Macbeth, Gillian Shakebeer, or whatever the shit that dude's name wa-

His thoughts were interrupted by an elevator shaft opening up under his feet. Now that wasn't playing fair, was it. The man fell.
Duh.

Opening out into a starfish position, he caught himself just before he hit the bottom. Did I mention there were moving saws and spinning blades at the bottom?

Cause there were.

The rusting devices were shredding his back into grated cheese. His vision started blackening. In what he hoped to be his last moments, he saw the boy's phycoticaly gleeful  face at the top of the shaft. He yelled.
"I wish you were immortal, but still felt pain."

He then dropped a paw onto the man's body, which unhooked his arms and legs, causing him to fall into the many torture devices, that would never bring him to his demise.

Little bastard.