Two Guys. One Serial Killer.
He walked towards me, a razor in his hand and a crazy look in his eyes. I wasn't able to run, I wasn't even able to move. He lifted up my arm, and started slashing it over and over again.
"I thought you loved me," he sa...
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▂▃▅▇█▓▒░ St. Bangtan ░▒▓█▇▅▃▂
I washed the blood from my hands, watching as the now diluted red liquid sunk into the drain. I washed them again; more thoroughly this time in order to assure that there was no more on my hands. I turned the faucet off with my wrists and studied myself in the mirror as the screams filtered through my memory. That was the worst part; not the screams themselves, but that they played through over and over in my head, lingering like a nightmare I can't wake up from. They were always in the back of my mind, reminding me of the monster I had become.
I looked over to the bathtub, which was filled to the rim with soapy water. In the water lay a woman; her ankles and an arm rested on the rim of the tub, while one was hidden the in the water. Her head lulled back at the neck, and her mouth was open while her eyes rolled towards the back of her head. Blood dripped from a deep incision along the length of her exposed forearm, now leaving her lifeless where she lay. There was a small razor somewhere around the tub, if not in it, that caused that incision. Contrary to what you would first assume after looking at the scene, I was the one who carved into her skin.
I looked back into the mirror and examined the dark circles under my eyes as the corners of my mouth flickered upwards. This was like heroin; it was an addiction.
▂▃▅▇█▓▒░ Euni ░▒▓█▇▅▃▂
I sat in the coffee shop around the corner from the hostel I was staying at as I typed away on my laptop as my half-empty tall macchiato rested next to it, probably getting even colder. I was writing an article on an elementary school's fundraiser to donate to a children's hospital, sighing heavily after writing each sentence; this was not the stuff I wanted to write. I wanted to be the one writing front page articles and eventually work my way into creating my own magazine. I had a vision for my future, and this was not it. This was not it at all.
"Excuse me," somebody interrupted. I didn't look up, but instead spoke in order to acknowledge the person.
"Yes?" I said simply and monotonously, trying to convey that I didn't necessarily want to be bothered at the moment. My fingers didn't stop moving as I worked away on the article.
"All the other seats are full, do you mind if I take this chair across from you?" When I had come in, the shop had been nearly empty. However, I had been in here for a couple of hours, and hadn't exactly looked up from my computer screen. Did it really become that full?
"Go for it," I said, still not looking up at him. He didn't say much else, but silently dragged the chair across the floor in order to get into the seat. Thankfully, he didn't attempt to keep talking to me, and I managed to finish my article within the next twenty minutes. I saved the word document, and sent it to the paper it was for before I closed the laptop to find that the guy had been staring out of the window paying me no mind. He had brown hair that went just past his jawline that deeply complimented his tanned skin, deep midnight eyes lined with thick eyelashes, and a small mole at the end of his smooth nose. He looked exhausted as he clutched his cup of coffee, but still remained exceptionally handsome. I looked out of the window to try to see what he was looking at, but there were only brick buildings.
