Slowly Cultivated Killer

Clown

The Bank is closed today and I don't know what to do so I go about my rounds about the building. The doors are locked and the bodies are accounted for; nothing is out of place. But something is disrupting my peace. Why has this loud banging begun? And, just when I was about to admire my own collection, to admire that bodies I have personally provided towards The Bank. The soure of the noise is a young latina woman who has a stray bullet lodged in her hip. Luckily for her, a few of the bodies we have came in contact with sometimes have bullets wounds from gang related violence, so we have a healthy supply of tweezers and gauze tap. As I wrap her hips and waist with the cloth-adhesive creation, we begin to talk about her daily lifestyle. She says her name is Mya Flores, goes to medical school to become a nurse and works as part-time entertainment at kids parties. When I asked her what it was that she did, she said she was a clown. I tried to interpret it as anythng else, asking did she meant something like a comedian. But she said no, that she was a full clown as in make-up and all. To a time before I can recall, I have hated those creaturesque-people. Calmly as I can, I ask her to go to the backroom to pour the rubbing alcohol through the gauze. The reasoning wouldn't have sound right to a person with a full mindset but she lost too much blood. She was entirely too delirious to notice that flaw. She was studying one of the signs that gives tips on some of our most common procedures when I grabbed a surgical knife. "So what is th-," was all she could get out. Soon as the front of her throat got into my line of view when she turned to speak, I plunged my knife deep enough to exit through the other side. Staring her deep in eyes, I watch the light and life drain from her eyes. Her looking at me while she died a deliciously painful death, my smile grew and grew until it streched from ear to ear. The blood pours heavily down between our bodies and the unknown females body slumps against mine. Too bad her body isn't fit to be in The Bank, we don't take vermon like Mya. Mya the children's clown. Disgusting. I should dispose of this body in a way fit for her kind. To the bayou where the best creatures stay, and those creatures love the taste of fresh corpses.