Amnesia [Completed/Editing]

Chapter One // Owen Lux Wesley

CHAPTER ONE // OWEN LUX WESLEY

THREE YEARS LATER 

[WORD COUNT: 4058]

[TOTAL: 7010]

THE AMAZING BANNER ON THE SIDE WAS MADE BY @PALINDROMES.

• † •

“Hello, sir?” I stared at the short, plump woman standing before me, wearing a plaid uniform that did not suit her figure in no way.

 “Yes?” I responded, instantly noticing how her neck was thicker than the others. It would take a lot of strength to snap her neck. I wondered whether she was going to be apart of this weeks massacre or not. She seemed to be eligible, I just had to see if she would pass the other tests. 

“Would you like anything else?” She asked, lines of stress appearing on her facial expression as she gestured towards my half-empty cup of coffee. “Or would you like for me to bring you the bill?” Her voice was high-pitched, quite annoying.

“The bill would be fine,” I said, calculating how much extra work it would take if she indeed was apart of my weekly massacre. Due to her large yet short figure her death would take longer than the others. It seemed to be worth it since it appeared to be that her voice was higher than average, which meant that she was a screamer. I weighed the pros and cons and quickly concluded that she was going to be apart of the massacre once I decided that she would be apart of the ‘tortured’ group instead of the ‘regulars’ or ‘quickies’ group.

You see, I usually took less than ten people–or sometimes more, depending on my mood–and separated them into three unique groups, the ‘tortured’, the ‘regulars’, and the ‘quickies’. The name ‘tortured’ spoke for the meaning itself; I usually left them for last. That group had the most amount of people. The ‘regulars’ were the ones that had deaths that were less painful than the tortured and were usually a part of a fun ‘game’ of some sort. The ‘quickies’ had the quickest deaths and died in a timespan of ten minutes or less. Those were the idiotic people that questioned every single one of my motives and usually tried talking me out of what I was doing. The quickies were used for an example for the tortured and regulars, to obey whatever I request and they’ll live. But they didn’t know that they would die in the end anyways.

The plump lady returned with a scowl on her face as she set the bill on the table. I stopped her before she left. “What’s your name?”

 “My name is Sheryl,” she replied. “Is that all?”

I felt my annoyance rise. Why was she rushing me? “No, I was wondering if you were alright. It seems like you are having a bad day with the scowl present on your face.” I fixated my gaze on her lips, which were red and slightly broken and tilted downwards near the edges.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Sheryl’s tone suggested something very clear, that it was none of my business. I breathed slowly–in and out repeatedly–to calm my anger. It would be so easy. I could grab her neck and slam it on this stained table, instantly knocking her out. Then I could make everyone believe that she had fainted and that I will carry her to the hospital which is a few blocks away from here, when I would really bring her to my basement to torture the fuck out of–

“Sir?”

“My name is Lux,” Not sir. I couldn’t help but snap. My hands shook under the table as I tried not to grab her oily hair and slam it against the pearly white table. Ever since the death of my father three years ago, I had been quick to despise any name that was not Owen. I changed my name to Lux, and it would stay that way. Even small nicknames like ‘sir’, like Sheryl did annoyed me to no end.