My Fathers Killer

WHISPER - chapter 1

June 1st

Pink is pretty.

When I was a little girl, my favourite color was pink; then it deepened- not my love but the color. It deepened and darkened until I favoured red the most.

I could be an annoying, cryptic piece of shit and say that's the reason I love blood so much, because it's red, but that would be bullshit.

The real reason I'm a murderer is for revenge. On my father, on the world, on whatever the fuck caused the creation of life.

The last one is what really gets me. Sure, without it, I wouldn't be here, but neither would the cock-sucking, god-fucking, cunty little whores who've fucked me over. That sounds like simple serenity.

So, I fuck with creation by killing off its offspring, one by fucking one.

By all means, judge me for my take, call me the antichrist; I'll never stop.

Now don't get me wrong, I would never kill an innocent being; I may have a few 'evil tendencies' but I'm not a complete bitch.

The only thing I hate more than the people who've wronged me is loud noises. Despite what it sounds like I'm not autistic... probably.

My hate for loud noises stems from childhood, more specifically my 13th birthday when the screams I heard were so burningly loud and pained that they have been etched so insanely deep into my brain that the sound breeds in my ears. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

The only way to be a killer, murdering in harmonious silence, is to either deafen yourself beyond repair, or defy the laws of physics; neither of which I can care enough to do.

Instead, I take a beautifully engraved blade to my victim's throat and cut at their vocal cords until it's impossible for them to make a sound. Though when I'm really pissed off I just cut off their tongue and drag the torture out, letting all my anger out on their body.

It's truly a beautiful thing to witness; it's even more beautiful to commit.

I got to pick my own name; since I'm a single assassin I chose for myself and didn't get stuck with some stupid shit like 'the pink panther' during training. So, I went with 'Whisper'.

The reasoning seems obvious: I hate loud noises, whispers are quiet- yada yada yada. Of course, those thoughts were put into it but there's more to it than that.

The list of reasons why someone may whisper ranges from hate, to love, to seducing; all things you either feel or fake while committing an assassination. The final reason is that people often reciprocate the tone and volume in which you speak; the quieter I am, the quieter they are.

In this life, no one knows my real name. I have no family, no friends I trust to keep my little secret and all my IDs- birth certificate, passport, driver's licence were burned in front of my eyes; I have fake ones of course, under different identities. I plan on keeping who I really am a secret that I take to the grave, or the bottom of a lake; wherever I end up.

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I'm sitting by the ship port, dressed in my full black outfit. The glow of my blonde hair, which falls just below my shoulders, stands out against the darkness.

The moon is displayed in the dark sky, casting a soft light upon the water below. As I stand here, I listen to the faint approach of footsteps and quickly cower into the camouflaging embrace of the shadows.

The group strolls right by me, oblivious to my presence. Their boisterous laughter and the sound of beer bottles clinking in their hands reverberate off the walls.