A Joke Gone Wrong
  • Reads 1,398
  • Votes 34
  • Parts 11
  • Time 51m
  • Reads 1,398
  • Votes 34
  • Parts 11
  • Time 51m
Ongoing, First published Apr 13, 2014
His thick, purple glove was pressed hard over my mouth, disabling my ability to scream. The heavy scent of his cologne invaded my nostrils. It usually masks the scent of death that follows him, but due to our close proximity, it initiated my reflexes to make me gag. This is it, I thought. There would be no smashed windows, no thump of a body being thrown across the room, no masked figures and no deep, comforting voice. As the blade of the silver knife bit into the soft skin of my neck, a tear spilled out of my locked eyelids. I heard his psychotic laugh ring in my ears before I felt his lips trail down my cheek and wiping away the moisture.  

"I'm sorry it has to be like this my dear, but you know too much. Goodnight, Sweetheart." His words were the last thing I knew before I was swallowed up into a warm caress the carried away my senses and my consciousness. 

For almost my entire life, I've had a silent protector, and also, a not so silent ... how should I put this ... enemy, shall I say. I've been kidnapped multiple times and had my whole family taken away from me. My life now rests in his hands. My name is Kate Hearn. I'm seventeen years of age and I live in the infamous Gotham City.
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"Oh, my God." I look up from my hands, the blade wet with red liquid. "Hi", I say cheerily, giving him a wave, laughing as more drips onto my lap. I gently set the knife down on the counter top beside where I'm sitting, my legs covered in knife marks, giving it a loving pat before picking up the next one. It's too clean. It needs to be pretty. "Theresa, put the knife down", Jake orders, walking quickly over. "Put it down." "It's not pretty!", I shout, surprising him. "It doesn't understand!" He looks at me, looking deep into my eyes for a moment before ripping the blade out of my grasp, dropping it onto the floor. "Come on. Let's go get you fixed up." "I don't need fixing!", I scream, kicking my fiancé as he tries to pick me up. "I'm perfect!" "Shh", he says. "Of course you are." "You're a liar!", I shriek. "You're trying to make me ugly again! I made art and you don't like it!" I burst into tears, burying my face in my hands, sticky blood getting all over my face. Jake ignores me, scooping me up and carrying me into the bedroom, then into the bathroom, locking the door before putting me down on the counter. "I don't wanna be fixed!", I cry as he wets a washcloth, wiping the red water off of my skin, thrashing as more and more of my masterpiece gets washed away. "Stop! Stop it!" "Shhh", Jake soothes, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "It's not hurting you." "You're destroying everything!", I yell. "It was a masterpiece!" -------- Theresa Moore. Age:21. The strange thing about her is, she doesn't remember much. A voice speaks to her in her mind, telling her to kill. Sometimes, the voice, becomes so much more than bossy. It takes control. *this is merely a first draft right now. Edits will happen when the story is finished, burn it you find mistakes, please let me know by messaging me