Perfect Evil

In The House

It was terrifying. The noises seemed to echo eerily around the house. The footsteps sounded like intense drum beats. They wished not to hear the footsteps of others feet, that meant death. The family were so proud to have been chosen. They hadn't thought about the fact that one way or another they would end up killing each other. It was a gruesome end to a childhood. But gruesome was normal nowadays. There were camera everywhere, they knew it. Every move being tracked, every heart beat monitored.

One was down. It was the mother, she had been stabbed from behind by her beautiful 8 year old daughter. Her blonde ringlets bounced as she skipped over menacingly, the pretty bread knife clutched in her chubby hands. A smile playing on her childish face. She wanted to win, so she would do what it takes. She didn't understand that after her mother stopped breathing, she would never breath again. She stabbed her firmly in the back, laughing as the blood poured over her. Her mother screamed in shock as she turned and saw that the gorgeous daughter she had brought into this cruel and sadistic world, had turned into one of them.

Tears poured down her pale, cadaver like face. Her skin a translucent, papery white as the blood ran freely out of the open wound. I'm that moment her child had changed from an innocent young girl to a disturbed killer. She cried in the pain of lost innocence. The world had been so free. Why did they change that? For perfection? How was this perfection, making children wish death upon their own mothers.

Many questions filled up her head, they were left unanswered as the last drops of blood seeped out and she fell to the floor. Collapsing in a blood stained heap, the floor soaked in her bright red blood.

One down, four to go.

•••

He was crouched in the corner, tears cascading over his pale cheeks. His wife was gone, his children wished to kill him. He would never lay a finger on them. Death was better than living a life of guilt. Knowing that these were his last moments he sang softly to himself. It was an old song, a song from The Old Ages themselves. His mothers used to sing it to him as a child.

"Oh I, I never meant to cause you trouble. I, I never meant to do you wrong. And oh well if I ever caused you trouble, oh no I never meant to do you harm"

His voice rang out clear, he didn't know what motivated him to sing that. Memories of his childhood filled his mind. He remembered his own father. Strong and proud. A great role model, a loving friend. He could never kill his father. The thought made him feel ill.

He decided to make the job easier for his children, the thought of them fighting to death made more tears overflow his eyes. He hated this, he hated all of this. He didn't want his children to face the horror of murdering their own father. He had failed his goal of protecting them from this. Now all he could do was protect them from killing their own father.

He reached into his jacket and withdrew the gun they had handed him to start off with. He clutched it desperately in his sweaty hand. His arm trembling as he raised it to his head. He tried to steady his arm, whispering one last thing to himself before he would pull the trigger.

"I love you Eleanor"

His finger applied pressure to the trigger, the bullet never reached the air, it lodged itself into his brain. He didn't feel any pain. His body slumped against the wall. Blood streamed out of his wound. His mouth gaped open.

Two down, three to go.

•••

Her hair was clotted with blood, she had wandered upon her mothers body in the kitchen. The 15 year old had used all her strength trying to revive her mother. She had failed.

She snuck around. Not wishing to be found. She could hide and wait till the others killed each other. Hope that a fight would go down and she wouldn't have to be involved. She knew her mother was dead. She didn't know about her father. She hadn't heard anything from him, except a sound coming from the other side of the house. It was muffled though. So she couldn't tell who it was.

She made her way up to the attics. They wouldn't think of coming up here. The house was massive anyway. It had everything. Lounges, bedrooms, servant quarters. Even a ballroom. Everything was in ruins though. Discarded pieces of junk. The walls had holes in. The floor was worn away in places.

She carried on into a large attic room. The floor was dusty and gross. Parts where covered by bits of plastic. Obviously there were holes in the ceiling below. She picked one up gingerly, below was the ballroom, the ceiling around 8 metres high. A deathly drop. She carried on walking, narrowly avoiding the holes.

She miscalculated, not all the holes were covered so obviously. Much to her misfortune. As she grew more confident and increased her pace, she became lax about checking her footing. She slipped and tumbled through the floor. Trying in vain to grip onto the fragile ceiling as she fell through bringing chunks of rotten wood with her. It seemed to go in slow motion. Her blue dress, stained red, billowing upwards in a graceful dismount. Her mouth screaming in terror, her bloodshot eyes as wide as coins.

Then with a snap, she hit the floor and her neck broke. Yet she still lived. She lived until her injury killed her. The blood drained out of her contorted body. Disfigured and inhuman, no longer a beautiful young women. Now a mess of limbs.

Three down, two to go.

•••

She was the young fighter. The only one to kill so far. Her 8 year old mind didn't understand the circumstances. Didn't understand that even though they told her killing was good and everything would be fine. For her, that was not the case. She didn't realise that lots of blood meant dying, that punctured lungs meant suffocating, that broken limbs meant pain. She thought that this was a game. For her it was.

She tiptoed down the hallway. Pretend games like this were fun. Though this was real. This was so painfully real. She would never be able to get over this. This would scar her life forever. If she won, she would be famous. Famous for such a terrible yet good thing. What kind of heartless creature would do this? A perfect creature is the answer.

She knew where he was hiding. His muddy footprints were coating the white floor. He was in the kitchen. Probably hiding or something. What a wimp, was the first thought that popped into her childish mind. She would soon realise what she was doing. It was something that she would either regret or love. It depended on whether she was as bloodthirsty as some of the people that would be entered in this.

Iris had tried to choose a unique family. She had chosen this family because they were the only family in the whole district with a powerful ancestry. Their relatives from the Old Ages had been leaders themselves. There was a man, he was a leader of a very large district, or country as it was know, called 'America'. They did not look like him at all. His skin was dark, theirs pale. There was not many black people left. The few that were left seemed to all be in positions of power. This family, even though they didn't look related, were related directly. It was odd for a poor family to be related to powerful people.

She could see him now. He was facing her, a butter knife in his hand. It was going to be an easy fight. The lanky teen had more years with him. But he didn't have the upper hand here. He tried to keep a steady grip as he stared at her, though he could see this fight was inevitably in her favour.

She screamed and ran towards him with the knife clutched in her hands. Her baby blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she played the 'game'. He tried in vain to push her away, waving the butter knife around, it cut her arm slightly. She looked at it with a bemused expression. Remembering what she was trying to do, she waved around the knife. Not knowing where to stab or slash.

She thrust out her arm, pushing the blade into his stomach. The red blood stained his white shirt, creating a pretty flower shape. She touched it lightly. Childish glee and ignorance plastered on her face. He started shaking violently. Coughing up blood and bile.

He lost his balance and fell. A loud crack was heard as he dropped to the floor like a dead fly.

Four down, one left.

The winner was found