Krii7y Oneshots :)

[Killer]

What defines a killer?

Is it the way he dresses? How his supposed obsession with death shows through his attire? The way he presented himself couldn't make it more obvious.

The way his rings took up most the space on his hands, how the dark fabrics of his jacket clung to his body, perhaps it was how he wore his menacing smile across his face. The same sneer that seems all too cunning, or all too clever. His hair, as bleached as it could be, covers his face. He seemed to be hiding something, and almost everyone around him knew.

It was no secret, if anyone were to do it, then surely it would be John.

Maybe it was his attitude that threw everyone off. He knew all too much, he delved deep into the unknown and discovered dark secrets. Some of which he found to be quite interesting. His carefree lifestyle gave way to incoming suspicions, the way he never watched, or maybe paid attention too closely. How his ears would prick up when others would voice their opinions of him, and how he seemed to have brushed them off.

The stark contradiction was astounding.

He had acted with caution around everyone, except him. Jaren Smith. He had been the only one John had trusted, or had an inkling of value to him. To everyone else, they were quite the polar opposites. It was a wonder how long they had been friends.

They shared only one thing.

The one secret they had kept for too long, it had seemed, was carving its way through their bodies. It leaves gashes all over, only visible to the two of them.

If it were to be John, then why had Jaren stayed with him through it all, why hadn't he told anyone? Maybe it wasn't John, it couldn't have been John. The only person who believed in him was Jaren. He knew.

So did John. He understood that everyone would put him to blame, but Jaren would be the one to look out for.

The majority would have socially exiled John had they known for sure that it was him. Rumors spread fast throughout the school. Fellow students would be afraid to near the boy, fearing his very presence. Others would desperately avoid hearing the conversations between the two. The out of context bits and pieces were often very misleading.

Everyone had their heart set on John. They had it all planned out, for he had met almost every single stereotype you could think of. You name it, and he's got it. In their own minds, they had pictured him doing it, murdering his fellow classmate. The scene was already set, with John standing alone, bloody knife in hand. But what they hadn't accounted for was that he hadn't been alone, nor had he been the one holding the knife.

The mysterious gaze in Jaren's eyes would go unnoticed for weeks after the event. All prying eyes would have swerved straight over to John, the most obvious, most logical answer. He was the perfect example; however, most people had been looking at the culprit without even knowing it. No one would suspect poor little Jaren.

Maybe it was the way he acted, the way he tucked into himself when anyone other than John would talk to him. It might have been how timid he was when it came to the others. Routinely avoiding social contact at all costs was right up his alley.

The way he looked down at his own hands would go unnoticed, everyone unaware that he sees the blood of his victim on his hands. No one paid attention to how he walked, silently retracing his steps within his mind, driving himself insane as the images slowly and painfully replay inside him. The simple action of a glance at the victim's old locker was seen as a small act of grief.

Had they been more curious, more aware. He had been the silent wolf among the many sheep, and he doesn't plan on being exposed any time soon. Not while he was alive, he knew that for sure.

While others had seen John's glance over to Jaren as a possible new victim, he had been worried about the boy. He had every right to be.

Every single day, Jaren passes the place where it all happened. Where he saw it all, and where he wishes he could forget. That dreaded night would resurface within him with every step he took around the long gone crime scene. The faint hint of blood stains littered the cement, staring him down. Wanting him to make his next move. He walked on each day, knowing what he had to do.

Going home on that final day was the worst of all, as Jaren had promised that he'd see John tomorrow. The murderous glint in his eyes had shown throughout the whole day, and not one person had even stopped to recognize it. For John was the only one who knew what was beneath his skin. The desires that were crawling within his body, waiting to break free.

Even now, staring at the mirror, you could see it. The feeling. The knowledge of what Jaren had done was so wrong, unspeakable even, but it filled him with the inexplicable desire for more. More destruction, more pain, more, more, more...

He knew what he had to do. How he would do it had already been a running idea for days. The tears leave his eyes, which are filled with the conflicting emotions of regret and satisfaction. Never in his life had Jaren felt these emotions at the same time, and never will he give himself the chance to experience it again. It was simply out of the question, his time had come.

The knife with which he would cause his own death with was being strangled with his tight grip. The blade was cold against his soft, smooth skin. He smiles, finally feeling as though he'd actually gone insane. The sharp end has delved into his skin, delicately wrapping his body with the scarlet color of blood, yet he felt nothing. The deep slices in his arms were almost nothing compared to the damage he had done to his own throat.

The warm sensation of the blood trickling down his body caused nothing but wonder to encapsulate the boy. Jaren's last thoughts would not have been about John, but they would be about the way his victim felt. The worst part of it all was the fact that he had relished the feeling before his body collided with the cold stone floor.

Jaren Smith had not only killed one person, but two. No one had seen it coming, and no one would have known.

So let me ask again: What defines a killer?