"Yandere is a portmanteau of two Japanese words. The first is yanderu, which means "to be sick," and the second is deredere, used here for "lovestruck." A yandere is often sweet, caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an ext...
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My back hit the wall, the lights hung above me allowing for shadows to form upon its surface. I let out a blood-curdling scream as I witnessed my best friend's stomach being cut open violently with a sickle. He let out a more terrifying and petrifying-sounding scream as the pain he endured worsened every time the Soviet Union pulled back the small weapon harshly.
I collapsed onto my knees and cried, knowing how useless I was. I couldn't help my best friend, for I was trapped in a room with a big glass window beside the door, the rest of the room had wooden walls.
My best friend went limp, swiftly dying off, and although he was dead, the Soviet Union continued to stab him over and over again. I slowly shook my head as tears ran down my cheeks. I reached my hand out but dropped it quickly and looked down at the floor, both hands holding me up. I spread out my wings, wrapping them around my entire body.
"Stop it!" I cried. "He's already dead!"
The sound of stabbing continued for a little while longer, then my surroundings became silent. I heard him stand up, then the sound of his boots approaching the door, unlocking and opening it, then his footsteps growing louder and louder until I felt his presence hovering before me.
"Wh-Why are you d-doing this?" I asked, folding my wings.
I felt his eyes staring down at me, then not too long after, I felt his big and muscular arms wrap around me and pick me up, hoisting me onto his shoulder. I thrashed about in his grasp as he turned around, heading for the exit of the building. I unfolded my wings and smacked his body with them.
It wasn't working.
"Just kill me already!" I shouted, pounding my fists on his back. "Why are you keeping me alive?"
He kept walking, his lips refusing to move from the current state they were in; emotionless and careless about the actions he just made. His eyes focused on the spaces in front of him, nowhere else, and his breathing was quite heavy.
Kicking the double doors open, the Soviet Union sped-walked out of the abandoned factory and headed for a car. Finally reaching the vehicle, he opened the door and threw me inside, crawling on top of me not too long afterward.
He easily grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head using one hand. He used his other hand to reach into his pocket and pull out some rope. He flipped me over onto my back, and before he could tie my wrists behind my back, I decided to use my wings again.
