His eyes bored into mine, their blue depths darkening as if I was diving down deep into the ocean. Smoke from his cigarette caressed my cheekbones as I struggled not to scream.
He advanced like a predator and I backed away like the prey. That's what I was and always will be: the prey. Running, hiding, living in fear of the grinning monster I'd see before I took my last breath.
Suddenly, he had a knife in his hand. Where did that come from? I wondered — but only distantly; fear pumped into my veins faster than my heart was pumping blood around my body.
He lifted the knife to my throat; I gasped and whipped around, running for my life — but I wasn't moving. I ran and sprinted and bolted but I didn't move. Lactic acid built up in my muscles — he was only a centimetre away — I felt a sharp pain on my back and then agony as the knife was forced through the bone, splintering it, and ripped through to my heart, penetrating the very centre, emerging through my chest so I could see it if I looked down.
I gazed at the wound and the blade that caused it. Dazed, becoming lightheaded, I staggered around to look at him. He was looking at the injury with soft pride, as if it was a masterpiece.
"That's the best one yet," his velvet voice murmured, and the hand that previously possessed the knife now held a camera. He lifted it up and swiftly took a picture of the bloody mess in front of him, his eyes twinkling in satanic delight as the polaroid emerged.
"Wonderful," he whispered, holding the small picture as if it were a delicate butterfly he was trying not to harm.
I stood there, watching the scene as if I was outside my own body. My red, dying body, still standing up but eyes glazed over like I was already dead. All roads ended in that same fate: death.
"Your time is up," his voice was suddenly hard and my gaze snapped up to meet his — hysteria rose in my throat but all that came up was blood, and a gurgling sound —
Both of his hands now held a big, jagged rock each. Holding his arms wide, he summoned up all his strength and I tried to scream but just coughed blood. He brought his hands together with sheer force, the rocks in them; but one thing was in the way. My head. The rocks crushed each side of my skull, throwing up chunks of my brain into the fresh air and my very dead body fell to the ground.
"You're more beautiful in death than you ever were alive," he murmured, his voice now fading away. Taking hand sanitiser out of his pocket, he smeared it on his hands and rid himself of the blood of the very dead girl in front of him.
My eyes flew open and I resurfaced, shaking and sweating.
A/N
Juuuuust a little bit of gore. I hope you didn't throw up. :)
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Tell me about your worst nightmare.
--deainlustris
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The Devil In Disguise
Teen FictionEvery night, when I closed my eyes, his image would be branded to the backs of my eyelids. That same smile, so gorgeous yet so deadly. Those deep blue eyes, like the treacherous oceans you find, the ones which sometimes have those desolate lighthous...
