Hesitation and Instinct

When is the last time you faught for your sanity? Your life?
Hesitation: Eyes wide in a growing fear he hesitated, his trembling hand drawing back his aching limb to his body. His fingers twitched before he closed his hand and pulled himself away from the cold, pale skin of the mangled corpse that laid in front of him. There was no blood spilling out of the wounds for the liquid had been drained out only leaving a pale, white body with blank, glossy, silver eyes gazing at the darkening sky above. Purple colored entrails spilled out of the persons side onto the clean cement, not a drop of blood staining them. It was too clean. All too clean.

Instinct: His silver eyes glowed in the thrill of the kill. Shivering in anticipation he could smell the fear and hear the nearvous heart beat of his victim. It was the slow. Tick. Tick. Tick. of their heart that set him off as he peered at them, their back turned as they cried silently to themselves. They were obviously frightened. It wasn't unknown to the killer as he smile twisted and his hands trembled in the happiness as if he had too much caffiene or sugar because he was far too happy. He was too damn happy and he found it comical. Cracking his stiff neck he grasped the blade in his hand as the moonlight shimmered off of it. "Let's get this started," he mumbled happily to himself as he stalked giddily toward his victim.