Karma

Victim 1

Dusk turned to night. Blue turned to black. Hot turned to cold.

My senses were hyper alert and my ears were listening; waiting. Silence. The blanket that coated the air was sickening and yet I waited. For what? Something beautiful? Exciting?

The only thing exciting or remotely close to beautiful were the trees swaying above and even they had stopped. And how could that be beautiful? I almost snorted at the thought. Beautiful? What a foreign fucking concept.

Silence.

Everything was still, like the plants, too, were waiting for what I was waiting for. And the climax had better be fan-freaking-tastic. I'd been listening to their thoughts all day. Followed them all day.

They were my prey and I was their predator.

They were sinful and I was hungry for their sins.

They were my main pursuit and I was their biggest threat.

And then I heard it. The rough sounds of shoes on the woodland floor and their steady breathing. Their thoughts that were echoing through my own grew louder. And louder. And louder. The sound of them made adrenaline run through my veins and my fingers itch to be around their neck.

I fidgeted in my hidden position behind the bush. Admittedly, crouching down really wasn't the best way to stay comfortable, but I'd always preferred quick thinking over strategy.

I'd been following my victim all day and, even though I wasn't technically a stalker, I just so happened to have heard during the day - at about one fifty whilst my victim was waiting at Starbucks to pick up some fancy coffee with a friend called Brian - that my victim would be walking through this forest to their next booty call, I took that as my chance to strike.

Hidden, yes. Dark, yes. Great spot to pick? Absolutely. Round of applause to my great fucking thinking.

The sound of their footsteps lingered in the air. They were walking towards me and I could hear their heart beating. I let a grin crawl its way onto my face. They were close. I could feel it in my toes. In my fingers. In my whole body. They were close. I closed my eyes.

Images flashed in front of my closed eyes. My next victim: Michael Crow. His age was twenty one. About six foot two with brown hair and slight stubble covering his chin. The images merged together and created a scene.

There was a woman and she was cowering behind a sofa, the same way an infant would. "P-please Mike... Tell them," she gulped. "Tell them you c-can't."

The man, who I assumed was younger Mike or Michael, stepped into view. He had dark eyes and wore an impassive expression on his face. He was a blank canvas. Yet his movements were so angry; so calculated. I almost admired it.

"You know I can't do that Mary," he said calmly. His eyes looked straight through hers as he walked his way towards her. She cowered back in fear, but her back merely hit the back of the sofa, making her whimper.

He grabbed the sides of her head with his hands and pulled her up, her feet dangling off of the ground. Tears were now running down her face and her hands were shaking at her sides. She was a mess. A goddamn mess.

"You fucking know that you shitface!" He roared, before pushing her back down to the ground. A sickening crack echoed through the room, but Mary made no sound. He straightened out his tie and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Mary and the house shivered.

Within seconds though, Mary had picked herself up off of the floor, her face blank and emotionless. She was limping a little and her blonde hair was a mess. Her eyes puffy and red. But still she walked.