"I don't care about anyone else but me..."
These are the last words I want you to here, L. I remember how long ago it seems, I had you in the palm of my hands, but it was your words that stopped me. My dream was shattered that night. I wanted to be like you, to be respected like you, to be loved by you. I did such a simple thing, and you could not stand that. Is death such a bad thing? We are opposites now because of our answers to this question. Black and white, simply put. I can tell you over and over and time after time, but my words mean nothing, for I am a killer to you, and nothing more. That is what I will always be...
I held her in my arms. Her face like a porcelain doll. Her hair in ringlets, skin deathly pale, lips a passionate red. She looked at me with frightened eyes, though she did not cry. Her long, black dress with white ribbons and delicate lace moved slightly with the wind. A small portion of her neck was exposed to the night air. She smelled sweetly of jasmine. I smiled. How much more beautiful could she become?
Much more...
I tilted her head back lightly. She drew a startled breath. I cut her neck lightly. It was like slicing a cake, the way her skin parted beneath the blade. She is silent as death itself. The blood trickled down her neck, much the same as rain sliding down a window, staining her neck laces. She did not struggle against me. She watched as I cut her again, deeper into the first laceration. The blood came more swiftly, now with no single direction. She smiled, as if mocking Death before he would take her. Her blood covered my hands as I bent her head back farther. I slipped my tongue in between her parted flesh, delighting in the blood. My saliva trailed from her neck to my mouth. Her pulse bounded beneath my fingertips. Her heart beat so quickly it seemed to be inhuman. The coppery taste in my mouth lingered like the image of her on my mind. Her beauty surpassed that of all living things. Her eyelids began to close over lapis lazuli. Her body had taken all it could.
She raised her right hand and placed it on mine. She moved it up slowly to the knife's blade. Her hand fell in the attempt. She did not possess the strength to carry out her dying request. I looked at her, then stroked her hair softly. I placed the tip of the blade at her throat. She took the handle, shaking. I pushed it into her all at once. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a scream, but it never came. I pulled the knife out of her slowly. As I did, her neck rose as it came out then her body fell back into my arms. Her life continue to flow from her, though she had already passed. If only she could bleed forever. To cover the world with her beauty...
I brought her body to an abandoned cathedral. The pews were torn asunder and the floors were cracked. The ceiling, though painted majestically of angels in a cloudy heaven, had a large hole directly above the altar of Jesus, his hands outstretched in prayer, where the moonlight shined upon him. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary to the left of him and Joseph to his right. I lit the candles beside them with old matches I had found, and I placed her body upon the statue of Jesus. Here, He would forever hold her body, as He had her soul. She would be with Him for eternity, her vast beauty surpassing even the highest archangel. The moonlight lit up her pale features as it did the crimson that flowed from her. I commit this sight to memory, as it will die with me.
After I committed this act of murder, you found her body. You never had sufficient evidence to prove what you knew was true. That you had known who killed this girl. But that is the world you live in. If you cannot find evidence, but the crime is in front of you, you cannot pass judgment upon anyone. You will never be able to catch me, and I will never stop until I am sure I have beaten you. So you see, justice will not prevail as long as I am alive; a most unfortunate corollary to your favorite saying.