I took a deep breath and inhaled a load of water. My lungs began to burst and my throat throbbed. I desperately flapped my arms, reaching for life, but my limbs couldn't move any quicker. I was suffocated with my own panic, my head pounding like an old set of drums.
Get out of the water! A voice in my head cried, echoing through my eardrums. The tips of my toes brushed the sand below as I attempted to stand but I was engulfed by another wave.
Spit dribbled off my lip, sticking to my chin as I continued to reach for life. I let out a yell.
Suddenly the woman stopped struggling, as I had successfully done it. Her helpless body began to float, towards somewhere more peaceful. I let out a sigh of relief. I had done it. I had killed another.
Police were much harder to slaughter than an average person, but it was my only choice.
I slept like a doll that night, but unfortunately, my rest was cut short. My doorbell rang.
"God, what is it?" I tugged on my knotted hair and swung open the door, but there was nobody there but a package.
"Congratulations," I read aloud once I reached the kitchen. I popped a piece of a chocolate croissant into my mouth, the buttery texture causing me to smack my lips together.
"You are the invited to the annual 'Feast for Killers'. Please wear this dress and attend on Friday the thirteenth,"
I coughed, a flake of salivated bread flicking onto the table.
"Feast for Killers?" I asked, dropping my breakfast onto the ground. "Holy shit,"
I jumped to my feet pounding my first in the air.
"Yes!" I shrieked, bolting up the stairs with the dress I had received in my grasp.
The dress was a soft silky baby pink, but unlike the one in the movie, it didn't stretch all the way to my toes. It was nearly a replica of the one from the movie Carrie, as the theme for the feast had always been horror movies. Yet this dress only reached my thighs.
The Feast for Killers was a well known dinner for the top serial killers in the country. It was a one week trip to Canada.
"Fuck yes!" I repeated, jumping onto my bed.
When Friday the thirteenth rolled around I nearly sprinted to the airport. I wore a red halter top with high waisted jeans and my hair pulled into a braid.
I boarded the flight and sat down in economy class, folding my arms on my lap and plugging in earbuds.
"I recognize that song," a low voice murmured, hot breath hitting my cheek.
I groaned and paused my music, folding my arms over my chest.
It was a man with light blue eyes and dark hair. His jawline was sharp and I recognized his voice from somewhere but I couldn't quite place it.
"Leo Ellis," he stuck out his hand. It was strong and had a ring on one finger.
I pursed my lips and nodded at him, putting my music back on.
He lowered his hand and sat down on the seat, opening his legs wide and stretching.
I put my elbow on the arm rest and shut my eyes.
