With a final cry of 'murder', she fell to the ground, dead. The tramp looked coldly at his latest victim, who's mouth was still open in an 'O' of surprise and horror. Everything was silent, save for the occasional rustling of the grass and rippling of the pond as the winds' gentle breeze flew over all. That is, until, the tramp Looked away from his victim and up at the sky and let out a howl similar to that of a wolf which echoed in the trees and pierced the thin air around him.
He turned slowly, stealthily as he always was, and noticed some movement in arms of his latest kill. There, enclosed in dead, clutched hands, was an infant. He swiftly moved over to the woman and attempted to release her clasp. The tramp was feeling odd. "Could I actually be feeling compassion for a child?" He thought to himself.
The killer thought back to when he too was an infant. His memory seemed chopped and changed as if he was trying to erase that part of his life. A small smirk appeared upon his face as he remembered his first kill. The sounds of the ear piercing screams, the feel of the razor sharp blade penetrating the fragile skin and the look of the blood pooling around the corpse.
His parents had been the problem he thought. They were always asking to much of him. Always wanting him to dress this way or act that way. One day they had just pushed him over the limit. It was during a formal dinner, and the parents were discussing his grades. They obviously lied, being a well respected family, and being in the company of very sophisticated people. They would have been shamed if their only son had done poorly in school.
The parents continued all night boasting about their made up lives. The child was trying to keep his temper down but It was slows rising like the mercury in a thermometer. He finally exploded when The lady sitting opposite him, addressed his mother and asked if he was failing any classes, and of course she replied "of course not! No son of mine will be failing any classes."
That was it.. They was the last words uttered in that room, other than the sadistic laugh that escaped the young child's lips. His first kill had been against his own kin. After that he went rogue and now as he was staring down at this innocent child he felt as if he soul was softening, adapting to the babies presence. He told himself to snap out of it. This was a child, and should be treated just as any other.
He slowly stood up, holding the child as best he could, given he had never held anything so fragile, so small, so innocent. "What is wrong with me?" the tramp thought. He was actually feeling. All of his killings were merciless and the only expression was a demonic grin pasted across his face.
The tramp was so confused. He slowly strode over to a bush, and slowly lowered the baby. He didn't want to harm the innocent child after depriving him of his mother but he couldn't deal with the responsibility of having a child. The Tramp took one last glance at the infant and then set off through the hot desert.
