Little Miss Heart Stealer

1

So you thought this would be a story of heart break? Oh how wrong you were. This story's title is very literal. My name is Sarah, although that isn't my real name. Why would I give you my real name? I am kind of a serial killer after all, and I would prefer not to get caught. Although I am sure there would be fresh hearts, it would be very easy and boring to get them. What would be the fun if all my meals were given to me on a silver platter? To be honest there will probably be "heartbreak", although it will just be me tearing open mens' chests and eating their hearts. And occasionally a woman's. They all taste the same, kinda like chicken, but more gamey and something about it gives a feeling of wrong. I like it. One of my victims even said he felt like butterflies in his chest, followed by a sharp pain. Then I carved out his heart with a smile on my face listening to german music in my head. (Author's note: While writing this I was listening to german metalcore. It gives me the best thoughts.) The look of pain on his face was euphoric. All that was there was betrayal, regret, and a realization that I was a true monster. I am not a monster that hides under beds, but pretty damn close to it. I later found out he was widowed after his wife tried to kill him and his kids. She was later found hanging in the bedroom that they slept in. All I could do was laugh at the thought. I should have tortured him better. After all, a man that found out his wife killed herself yesterday is already really close to breaking. It would've been so much fun.

Children are the most fun ones to break, but they make so much noise it's is almost impossible to deal with them. I have only killed 10 or so though. The torturing was fun, but the noise they made almost got me caught, so I decided it was best to leave them alone. It was still worth it though, because their hearts were in such perfect condition, I saved them for desert. Speaking of dessert, I am getting super hungry. Time for a night time stroll onto the night street. I found a man walking on the street, drunk and in his own world. I started to use my charm to get him back to my house, and because of how much he drank, he thought nothing of it. There was something off, but it may just be the smell of booze on the man. How does he not have liver cancer?

"My children just recently died," he began, "I was trying to get them off of my mind by drinking but it made it even worse." I looked at him with fake sympathy and proceeded to "comfort" the man. It took a hell of a lot of willpower to not smile and give away my cover. This should be fun.

We finally got back around thirty minutes. My house was only two blocks away, but the man just had to have a stupid mental breakdown.

"In a few minutes he will not have a mind to have a breakdown. Or a heart," a voice in my head told me. For some reason I have always had a voice in my head, telling me to do what I do. Her name is Jazmine. She is the one who has taken the reigns in my head ever since I was six. She was the one who ate the heart of our dog, then eventually my entire family. I can still see the bedroom they were in. Blood all over my nightgown, smeared on the walls, and on my knife that Jazmine used to cut out the hearts. Then I ate their hearts, then my brother's heart.

The man was fun to break. He tried to resist, but he was way too drunk to do anything. It was fun to watch him struggle, like a fish out of water, easy prey for a cat. He broke easily, but he broke more excitedly than the others, so it was definitely worth the trouble. Afterwards, I got his heart out, and put on Callejon so that I could work with some noise on. I got out some other hearts that were not as good, mainly because they were from older people, not nearly as fresh. Although they tasted basically the same, there was something different about an older heart that made it not as good. I cut up this old man's heart that I took from a week or so ago, and added some seasonings to it.

Cue a cliche knock at my door. I was curious, because I know that no one saw me with the man.

"Could be just a solictor," I muttered out loud. Either way I wasn't going to take any chances, so I hid a knife behind my back as I opened the door. To my surprise it looked nothing like a solicitor. He was wearing some normal clothes. Jeans and a plain T-Shirt. A plain black jacket over his shoulder.

"My name is Tom," the strange man began," may I come inside?" I thought he would be an easy target, another garnish to my meal. I looked at the clean cut man, his eyes looking dark and cold. He had a weird air around him. I put on my best smile, and quickly hid the knife in my jacket and smiled.

"Of course," I told him, welcoming inside my horror house. The horror show is about to begin.