Story Ideas

11. The small killer and the big heart

I never minded the sight of blood, in fact, I loved it. I loved how it flowed within the veins; arteries. It was such a tremendous feeling.

But what made it better... was seeing it ooze out of every wound; every pore. The warmth gradually descending to a symbolic cold. The heart, with no more blood to pump, slowly stopping. Wonderful.

There was only one way I could experience this. Only one. I had to make it happen. I had to cut, and cut, and cut. I couldn't do it on myself though. No way. I would die. I didn't care if anyone else did, though.

So, I cut, and cut, and cut. I cut others into pieces; into mush. I cut them until their blood was out, and their flesh cold.

I didn't mind the dead eyes, the stiff limbs, I didn't even mind the struggle they usually put up.

But all that changed when I met her. I was about ready to dig my favorite knife into one of her major arteries. But then, I saw her; I truly saw her. She was beautiful.

She was tall, complimenting my short height. She was muscular, yet gentle, in comparison to my dangerously skinny frame. I loved her from the moment I saw her. I just didn't realize it until I saw the way she looked at me. Her eyes told me everything. She didn't care that I was going to hurt her, she wasn't going to punch me. I just didn't know why.

She certainly was capable of it.

I guess the most common question that circles my head is... why.