Two days later
I sat in the four door outside this building that had a party going on inside. I reminded myself of the first target's appearance. Dylan Door. Tall, Caucasian, blonde, wearing chains.
The original driver was tied up in a nearby garage.
My stomach was getting impatient.
After about an hour of just waiting, the guy entered the car without a second thought.
"Ay, you ain't my guy, who the f-"
"I'm filling in for JB. He's sick.", I replied.
"Aight, whatever. You know where my place at, right?"
"Yeah.", I began to drive.
His phone rang, he picked up, and talked so obnoxiously, "Ayo, wassup, homeboy? On my way to get jiggy with yo auntie Denise.", he laughed.
"Oh, come on, don't be like that, ya pussy."
And for a good ten minutes this guy kept throwing insults at this guy he only referred to as homeboy. I got fed up.
I took a detour towards a more discreet road.
"Hey, where you driving?!"
"Hello?! Ay, I'm talking to you, fucker!"
"Shut up, for fuck's sake!", I pulled over on an empty road.
"The fuck's your problem?"
"You're worse than me, holy shit! I can't take another second of you blabbering around with that fucking voice!"
"You want trouble, kid?"
"I was supposed to do this discreetly. This seems discreet enough."
"Fuck you mean by that?"
"Forgive me."
I dug my claws into his throat.
Might as well.
I got out of the car, put on a stolen nurse uniform that was in the trunk and sat next to his body. I dived in, took the ribs first, and ate them like I hadn't eaten in months. His blood felt the perfect seasoning that could save even the worst dishes, the bones like fast-food lunch after skipping breakfast. I ate almost every bone except the skull. Needed his head as proof he was killed.
This time I was able to chew faster, with less effort.
Took his phone, destroyed it, and burned the SIM card with my father's lighter.
Put the remains and clothes in a bag, cleaned up majority of the blood, wiped the windows, took his gun, and drove back.
Why didn't I hesitate to kill? Why do I not feel any remorse...?
Why did it feel... good?
Oh well, better than constantly regretting.
Right...?
Why did I kill him...? He was just being annoying, not someone... deserving of that. Or was he?
Must have been... How else would you end up on a kill-list of a local criminal?
You better be... deserving of that.
Once at the seemingly simple house of my client, I was invited in. Prepared myself for the painful accent, "Here's his head, Mr Kirby.", I almost hesitantly said, as I struggled to take in the suffocating atmosphere set up by all his men. I didn't even know what the hell I was really doing. Trained years to be a music artist with my best friend and live a life with Sarah... And now eating the bones of a lowly criminal and getting paid for it...?
YOU ARE READING
Sterling's Blood
Science Fiction-| "Who made you so cruel, Wallace?", he asked, holding his spilled-out guts. "The bastards that let you live all these years.", I said before I dug my claws into his chest and ripped him apart, as slow as I possibly could so he felt every bit of i...
