Stereotypes Reversed

Little Flowers

For this story i wanted to dive down into a more gory, bloody, psychotic type of story. And because it seems as if many male psychopathic murderers are spoken about instead of female imma bring to life the beginnings of a psychopathic girl.

Lilly watched as her father slid his blade against the corpse hanging up in the garage, a small smile fixed on her face as she examined the specimen.

"Daddy?" Her voice was soft, at first. Her father continued to work without looking up, but his hands shook just a bit more than they had before.

"Daddy." Her small boot stomped down on the concrete to punctuate her scentence and her father let out a small sigh, turning his head slightly he grunted in response.

"Will you teach me?" She stuffed her hands into her jacket and waddled up to her father, her face turning upwards to look at the figure her dad had been skinning.

Her father let out another puff of air, nodding, he pulled up a stool and sat himself down. Lilly took it as an invitation and lifted her arms for her father to pick her up. In one fluid motion she was lifted up and sat down upon her dads lap. "To skin a deer correctly you need a sharp knife, steady hands, and no distractions."

Lilly listened intently, her eyes never looking up from the knife as her father slowly slid it between the layers of flesh and meat, separating the good from the bad. Her tiny eyes gleaned as the blood from the kill still slowly dripped down onto the floor.

"Like little flowers. . ." Her voice came out in a whisper filled with admiration at the color of the liquid. "Little red flowers, Daddy."

The knife stopped mid-slice and her father cleared his throat, his hands shaking even more so than before. He examined the knife in his hand, disturbing thoughts of it plunging into his daughter ran rampant in his head.

"F-flowers, darlin'.?" He looked down at his daughters face as she smiled impatiently, waiting for him to continue skinning the deer.

She giggled and nodded, pointing her finger towards the floor as small splatters of blood patterned the concrete. "They fall and spread like flowers, Daddy. The color is pretty like flowers too."

Lilly's father abruptly set her down on her own feet and stood, plunged his knife into the carcass and covered the animal with a tarp before he walked out of the garage, his face white as a sheet.

Anger bubbled down deep in Lilly's gut, tears pricked at her eyes as she glared at her fathers back.

"My flowers. . ."

I might expand on this story if the feedback is good, so make sure to like and comment.