Chaos

The girl had just turned sixteen. She lived in a society where she knew she didn't fit in, because all her life she had heard whispers of things making her feel less and less like a human being. But she was strong, independent, and better off on her own, which was special. Most girls there were clinging to their future husbands as though they could not live without them. It was expected of them. She knew they were only doing what was expected of them.

That didn't stop her from being different. After all, she had never been what they expected of her; her natural blonde hair and bright green eyes singled her out, and her rebellious spark had earned her more trouble than she had bargained for. No, she had never been as expected, and she wasn't going to start now."

She walked into the park that had been her childhood home. She saw the grassy fields to her left, shining gold in the setting sun. To her right were the wildflowers she had picked as birthday gifts for friends and family members. All she wanted to do was stay, yet she was surrounded by signs that seemed to be screaming their statement at here; "Women are not allowed outside after dark."

Nonetheless, she had broken this rule before, and she didn't think it would harm her to stay out a few extra minutes. It was dark now, and all the children she had been distracting herself by watching before had gone home. Her mind wandered to what she was truly pondering, the real reason she had dreaded her sixteenth birthday for years before it had come. Now it was her duty to be married.

And to be married to the devil himself was not an easy thing to accept. His name was something dark, something she never bothered to remember because she didn't ever plan to need to. She had only met him a few times, and hadn't payed attention when she did. But she would not marry him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of movement in the usually still park. Out of the corner of her eyes, she had caught sight of the figure of a man. He stepped forward slightly, coming out from the shadow of the oak tree she had noticed him hiding in.

"Chaotic," he practically whispered, slowly stepping closer the the girl. She took a step away.

"Sorry?" she responded, straightening her posture. His eyes were a dark blue, so dark that she hadn't even known it was an eye color. Almost a purple, she thought to herself, but not. She was entranced.

"You. You're chaotic. With your hair and eyes, I noticed it first, but also in your soul, I see now." He looked up, at the velvet sky. "It's dark, darling. Don't you know the rules?"

He was getting closer now, and if she backed up any further, she would run into the trees, so she held her ground. "Yes, well, I'm working on that," she said bravely, attempting to sound as regal as everyone else in the community. "It's just a side effect, they said. It will be gone soon." She wasn't sure if he knew, or not, what she was referencing to, but she didn't want to elaborate.

He was standing right in front of her now. She was about to take off into the woods, when he spoke again. "Chaos is a beautiful thing," he whispered, shaking his head. "Embrace it."

And with that he stepped forward, grabbing her arm and cupping a hand over her mouth, and despite her kicks and screams dragged her off to the run-down building not a mile away. She was strong, she had thought, though in the end it didn't matter. She gave up fighting at some point, out of fatigue or realization that it wouldn't matter or maybe a mix of the two. It was never really proven what it was; no one ever bothered to question it.

He took her shoved her to the cold, cement ground. She felt a few sharp pains in he hands and knees from the rough ground cutting into her skin, like the scrapes she would get when she was younger and would fall off of her bike. She pulled herself up and planned to run, but the man kicked her stomach. Something, probably a rib, cracked; she heard it, but she was too distracted to notice any pain. She collapsed, but tried again to get up. He didn't need to kick her this time. She collapsed on her own, only a few inches off of the ground.

Her mind was racing but none of her thoughts went together. He brain felt like a one million piece puzzle had just exploded and her thoughts had attempted to put themselves back together in utter failure. None of them made sense, but she figured that wouldn't matter soon.

The man, she had realized as he dragged her here, looked more like a boy, maybe seventeen. He would be married, like her, in a few days at the ceremony, if that were case. It must be; newly weds were moved to another town, away from the families, and he looked seventeen at the least. He grabbed a metal pipe and lifted it above his head. His dark eyes sparkled with tears, and he looked straight ahead as he slammed it down upon the girl. She screamed, though it would have seemed to anyone listening like a whimper. He ignored it, though his eyes grew even wetter and he nearly flinched at the sound. He brought the pipe down again.

And he continued to, over and over again until the sounds stopped and her pulse drifted off into the distance. By then, the boy was in tears. When it was certain the girl was dead and the boy had kneeled down and hated himself for what he had done, a man came from behind a corner of the seemingly empty building.

The boy looked up at the man, his eyes red and puffy. "Are you happy now?" He said, gasping and bawling as though the world was going to end. "Have I done enough?"

The man smiled contently. He looked at the boy and said calmly, "You should be smiling, Severin. You got what you wanted. You are free."

The boy shook his head. The man knew what he was saying wasn't true. He was saying it to mess with the boy's head even more than he already had. And the boy knew that. The boy was smart. But that didn't mean it didn't affect him; it just meant he knew that effect was intentional.

The boy walked away from the scene, slowly and steadily, not sure where he was going. It was cold. Each breath was sharp and piercing. The night was quiet and still, and the stillness added to the weight on the boy's shoulders. He had just killed a girl. He had just killed. A. Girl. So why didn't he feel more traumatized?

He faded into the darkness of the street, sulking in his emotions, emotions he was told he wasn't even supposed to have. He didn't sleep that night, or for many nights. Blood was on his hands, and he could never wash it off.

The next day, when the sun came out again, a little girl went to the playground she always went to on Saturday mornings. She and her father played tag and hide n' seek and any other game you could think of, returning home a little before eleven in the morning. Neither of them noticed the small drops of blood on the swing from when the boy had grabbed his victim a bit too hard. The little girl was afraid of heights.

So.. I wrote part of this a few months ago, totally forgot about it, and then found it again today. I finished what I'd started, also changed it a bit, ended up with this. It's unedited because I'm too lazy to edit it and so this is the result. Hope you liked it.