Bloody Little Stories

Insomnia

39.

40. 

41.

42.

I counted each wound I made on my victim. I took a breath and looked down at him, finally taking in his appearance. He was most likely somewhere in his twenties, maybe early thirties. I don't know. His milky blue eyes stared up at me, traces of fear still visible in them as my figure was mirrored in his dilated pupils. I let out a chuckle as I continued to stab him. My work wasn't done. Not yet, anyway. The kitchen knife with a stainless steel blade and black handle soon started to feel like a boulder in my hand. I'm close to finishing.

48.

49.

50.

I let out another deep breath as the knife fell from my grasp and clattered across the, just recently, stained-red hardwood floor.

"Good job," I heard a soft, yet sinister, feminine voice coo.

I looked up and saw them. The trio. The ones who make me do this.

"Am I done now?" I ask, my voice hoarse from not being used in over a week.

The girl, who always seemed to look like she was an innocent fourteen year-old, turned to the man with spiked, snow white hair.

"What'dya think, Jack?" She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to her other side, where the other man was, this one was an exact replica of the other, only instead of white hair, he had black hair. "Is he done?"

The two men nodded, and then Jack spoke, "he's done for now, but he knows that we'll be back soon."

The three of them slowly began to fade away, as did my vision. I felt a smile upon my lips as everything went black and as my body fell beside the victim's. All the sounds around me began to disappear and then I did something I rarely ever do.

I slept.