Concessa

Deep and Dark and Rouge

"La-da-dum, la-da-dum, la-di-da," she hummed as she wiped off the dust from her gun. She shot a deadly look at the man responsible for it, for nudging her arm so hard just a little while ago. Now he is sitting on the floor after crawling away with such rickety knees. Oh how amusing it was to see the horror in the man's face. Too bad for him, he already reached the end of the dark alley he chose to hide in. Great choice, by the way. The man became a mixture of panic and fright as soon as his back hit the wall. His head was shaking, his lips were trembling so bad, and he was obviously looking for some other people to pass by.

The man tried to open his mouth to cry for help but she was fast. Before he could even speak, she had already lifted him off the ground and had made a cut on the right side of his throat with her kitchen knife that she took from a customized pocket attached to her flawless, long leg. She feigned shock when she said, "Oops!" She mentally applauded herself for being ready as ever. Even with the gun, she still wouldn't trade her favorite knife for the world. The pleasure it gives when it touches a frightened person's skin is priceless. Although she opted to bring pocket knives with her back then, they were too small for her liking and they just don't give the same feeling get favorite tool does.

She flipped her hair with the gun on her left hand and the other still holding the knife against the man's neck where blood was leisurely gushing out. The man winced in pain as she put pressure on the tip of the knife. She was enjoying it but not to the greatest extent for the show isn't over yet.

"W-Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?!" It was funny how the man was trying hard. She held herself from bursting out in sheer laughter. She cocked her head to the side and scanned the man's wrinkled face.

The man breathed in relief when she removed the knife from his neck only to gasp in immense torment when she pointed the bloody knife in the other side of his neck and the gun to the sliced part of his skin. She only did it when she got too annoyed with his sneaky glances on her chest. Now she gave him what he secretly wants. As she pointed the two deadly weapons on the fifty-year old man, she pressed her warm body to his cold one to hold him in place and to keep his brain confused with his body's desires when she felt something poking her abdomen. Gross, she thought but dealt with it knowing it wouldn't last. Sweat was trickling down from his forehead to his cheek and to his fresh wounds, making his agony worse. Only, his fear is greater than the physical pain he was feeling.

"I don't have a name but you can call me Rouge," she answered nonchalantly as she was causing another lash on the neck of the man while checking her perfectly polished nails on her hand which held the gun.

"R-Rouge?" The man stammered so bad that he mispronounced that simple word she gave as a name. "R-Rouge as in the color red?"

She rolled her eyes at his ignorance, almost laughing out loud again but she was starting to get infuriated. How could he be the school principal when he isn't even sure what a basic word like that means even if it was French. She almost pulled the trigger when the man swallowed exaggeratedly, as it was irritating and how could he swallow when his mouth is most probably drier than the desert right now? Instead, she thought of making him choose his fate. "That's what you'll see in a moment, Sir." She quickly rolled her eyes heavenward for the second time.

"How do you want to die? Slowly or quickly?" She asked as if it was the easiest question to answer. Well, it really is. It's this or that. Slow means torture by knife she just sharpened this morning. Quick will mean he is going to experience the fastest trip to Neverland.

Don't get her wrong. It's not the place where children don't grow up. It's not the place of faith, trust and pixie dust. Neverland for her is a place where humans get trapped so they never come back to this tormenting life ever again, or at least that's what she believes. They are never going to suffer again. She's actually doing him a favor right now. He should be thankful. But who knows how life is in that place? It might be hell for them.

She counted to five, waiting for the shuddering man to answer. It's not that cold this evening but this man is quivering like there's no tomorrow. There's really none for him though. He must be drinking too much coffee.
Patience might be a virtue but to hell with that. It was taking too long and all her could force out of his mouth were sounds that made him seem like a baby learning how to say his first word ever. With that, the man gave sentence to himself.

She swiftly aimed the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger while slicing his neck like it was a huge piece of cake.

Lastly, she smeared his blood on her newly bought white, body-hugging dress, leaving it with streaks in deep, dark red.

First step, done. Perfect.