Born to Kill

Chapter 1

Screaming. It was loud, high; ear piercing as if... that was the music of death.

Crying. It was pain, agony; you knew death was coming... that was meeting death.

Blood. It was deep red, dripping, wet; it exposed you, left you damaged... that was death's accomplice.

Then silence. It was quiet, nerve calming, almost peaceful; it proved the end of it... that was death.

Four masters of doom, four stages of death, the ultimate enemy to what we call life.

She knew each of this as if it was a song stuck on repeat, lyrics memorized, tune harmonized, and each note engraved in her soul. Murder was her way of survival. Her skills could not compare to any other, she wasn't trained... she was born for it.

Continuous screams and cries echoed against the walls. She didn't mind any of it; she was too focused on the idea of his death. Slowly, her victim lost blood. His blood dripped and poured from his wounds albeit he had drifted from that thought long ago, he could not focus on anything better other than how he could possibly survive.

Swiftly, she slit his chest with her sharp blade. He screamed then gritted his teeth together. He coughed up a pour of blood, probably because of the punctured ribs he had received earlier. Slowly yet intimidatingly, she dragged the sharp blade across his cheeks, leaving a small cut. He froze in fear, his eyes looked into hers... he lived with the thought that her face would be the last he'd ever see. He didn't want to accept it so he continued to struggle.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." she said to him, "you know you shouldn't have fought... we could've done this the easier way."

He couldn't reply, his vocal chords burned due to his screaming- instead he let a painful groans escape his chest.

Earlier, she had broken his legs disabling him from running, she had drove a knife through his abdomen and she had left him some bruises and cuts all over his body. Slowly, she poured alcohol all over his body. While it helped destroy evidence, it caused pain throughout every nerve in his body. He had no hope to survive and she ensured it. As the alcohol fell on the wounds, he felt painful stings and fire-like burns all over himself.

He tried fighting her off with whatever strength he had left. He used his arms and forced her away but it was futile. Instead, she got her blade and pushed it to his left shoulder part-just inches away from his heart. The blood poured out as she removed it.

He had lost a lot of blood, the concrete floor looked like a huge puddle of blood. He felt nauseous and wanted to vomit. It was pain, it was agony, torture, torment, and he was in total and unquestionable anguish.

Slowly, darkness caught him and he fell into death's hands. Ultimately, silence arrived, no more groaning, fighting... his body was unable to do anything any longer. He was another soulless, lifeless, empty body in the world. In fact, he was no longer a person... he became another thing, an 'it' perhaps. It had lost meaning to the world, 'he' was for people with feelings or a sense purpose-it had no purpose.

Its eyes stared into emptiness and only that. It lay down in the blood puddle, not doing anything... forever. Blood poured from wherever it could for just a few seconds... as if in memory of it until it stopped. He was no more, whoever could shamefully remember it's life but that would do nothing.

At last, it was done.

The scene was so quiet; in fact it was almost peaceful. Not a sound able to be heard-not even the sound of a passing car could break it. Silence, it was almost tribute to the fallen victim. To her though-it was a medal.