Too Bad, So Sad.

chapter seventeen: poisonous

"You fucked up." I said towering over a girl who I buried in my memories. How could I forget? I laughed. Of course, she's buried..she's a walking corpse. Ah, she's on the list, isn't she? I laughed again. The girl's long light brown hair was matted and dirty, her dark brown eyes bloodshot red, her plump lips bitten, and her right cheek had a bright red handprint framed nicely-Salem's handprint on this corpse's face struck me as a significant piece of art. Her ankles were chained to a ball and her arms shackled–a sight to behold. It was at this moment I realized how unhinged I'd become. I smirked, kneeling in front of the girl and slapping her cheek again and again each slapping impact growing harsher, harder, and justified. It's our piece of art now.

She wept because of me. She cried because of me and all I could do was laugh. My voice box wasn't broken. I told her with my smile that she should keep crying. I'm doing spectacularly. "Give into me just this once…and die." I'm so thankful I went to that party.

                 

EIGHT HOURS EARLIER

Harleen dragged an unconscious man in front of me. Her instructions were clear. I played with the dagger in my hands, my name engraved on the blade. The dagger shined to perfection. Darling it read. The marble ballroom floor was stained crimson, and pools of dirty blood surrounded the man, Harleen, and me. Harleen dropped the man from her manicured hands and stretched yawning in the process. The man was supposed to be the planner of the party but he'd made a fatal error…listening to someone he shouldn't. 
Salem leaned up against the wall overseeing the altercation letting me do my job. The man had spoken out of turn cursing at my girlfriend saying she's not worthy of her title and how he wishes Malcolm was the one operating things–he sounded as if he was forced to read a script but I didn't care, hearing the typed words falling from his chapped lips gave me the right to react script or no script he had to pay. Harleen knocked him out, threw him around, and lastly, she dragged him in front of my freshly shined red stilettos. I kicked his stomach. I heard a groan and I smiled at the sound. We had come to the ballroom to hear further instructions on how we should present ourselves and what we will be experiencing during the celebration and then suddenly a plastic Ken doll-looking man started running his mouth being disrespectful, essentially offering me someone to take out my anger on. My stifled anger from reading those book pages is now unleashed on this meek man–meek like Salem's mother.

"Ms. Sie, he's all yours now." Harleen gestured widely to the fetal position man on the floor. She stepped back, joining Salem, letting me do my job.

The man managed to sit up, his eyes still shut. I took the opportunity to kick him back onto the ground. He yelped, his eyes opening up to the size of a plate. His shaky pupils met my analytical ones. He squirmed around in his blood slipping–how he's still alive I'm unsure but that detail didn't matter he won't be for much longer anyway. "It seems you've forgotten your place in this world. You are below us. You are fodder. You are disposable. Ms.Greece has handed you a job, a home, and a title and you wish to throw all of it away?!" He cried out for help, his head spinning around to meet Salem's indifference–it was then he knew it was over. Salem, the leader of Recon, had handed over power, an unheard-of possibility, no one earned her trust until now. Until me. He squirmed more attempting to flee. I caught him, slamming my heel into his thigh. He thrashed around sobbing like a little boy. I removed my heel from his thigh, got to the floor in front of him, and started choking him. I imagined Trion gasping for air as I took away this nameless face's air supply. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. His body slowly loses the willpower to fight. I imagined Ursa Denise gasping for air as she drowned. I imagined Eden Greece crying out for mercy. I imagined Denver's downfall, his own body going limp, his life leaving his body, I imagined his rage, his pain, his regret, and I felt gratification. All these people pleading for help just like this nameless man. All these people are at my mercy. Even as I know the man is dead because of my hands I continue to beat on his face. Trion, Eden, Malcolm, Denver, and many more blended together as one singular corpse. Unimportant, selfish, faceless corpses. Their humanity was stripped from them. Their stories are disposed of. They became nothing as I brutally bashed the man's face in. A blood bath. I promised a blood bath. I stopped, stood up, and smiled. Harleen clapped, and Salem cheered. No more pain for my girlfriend. No more reminders of what is lost. Everyone shall pay. This body is the first example I've made.