It was a mess, and not the good kind. There is the good mess, that comes after a party and fills your stomach with butterflies as the memories of the party flood in. And there's the bad mess, after you've murdered somebody, and that was the type of mess this was.
She didn't know why she kept creating these messes, but she enjoyed it very much. To everybody else, this was a bad mess, but to her, this was her good mess. Her poison.
She smirked, staring down at the knife in her hand, streaked with blood.This made her jump and squeal with joy, like a school girl.
Her latest victim had been one of her neighbors, a young man around the age of 23. She had despised Sam ever since he had moved into the apartment next to hers. Her number 45K and he was 46K. He was a fairly successful man, making more money than she did, having a better romance life than she did, and having more friends than she had ever had in all of her 27 years of living.
Sam was a fairly simple kill. He had been oblivious to her entering his apartment and even more oblivious to the girl behind him, raising a knife to his back. She had stabbed him once, a perfect shot right through the heart. There was just the right amount of both shock and fear on his face, as his knees buckled and he fell, the last fall he would ever take.
Now, came the tricky part, hiding the body. Before she had always thrown the bodies of her victims into a river near her old home, but now the closest river to her Brooklyn apartment was the Hudson River, where people would definitely notice a body. Then, she heard the crackle of the burning wood next to her. She'll burn the body. But how was she going to cover up the burning flesh smell? Cooking accident? No, that wouldn't work, she used that excuse last time. She'll worry about her cover-up when the building manager came pounding at her door.
It had been a long enough day, and she needed her beauty sleep or it would look like she had committed a crime, which she couldn't have. She sluggishly walked back to her apartment, yawning as she went to turn the knob. She changed into her nightgown, a plain black dress with a deep sweetheart neckline. Letting her hair loose out of her bun, she fluffed it, getting comfortable. Finally, she rested her head on her satin pillow, not worrying once that she didn't brush her teeth or washed her face, or even dug the blood from underneath her long fingernails.
YOU ARE READING
She's A Poison
General FictionShe smirked, staring down at the knife in her hand, streaked with blood. This was her poison. This made her jump and squeal with joy, like a school girl. But to every man that layed a single eye on her, she was a poison.
