A gory parody that will either sink or swim… or more like live or die, in this case… sooo it's worth a shot, I guess. This story may only be taken lightly by Club-To-Death Angel fans.
By monkeybait and her twin sister. Characters belong to James Patterson.
The funny thing about facing imminent death is when it's on the face of other people.
Like Fang.
Heh, heh, heh…
I woke up stabbing Angel's life-size Barbie… again. Cursing the fact that it wasn't actually Fang, like it had been in my dream, I checked myself. Yep, all arms and legs still there and working properly. Pretty sure all my organs were there, too. I'd managed to live through another night, though I always woke up prepared to be a second away from death.
It was chilly, but I forced myself out of my cozy bed. I threw on clean sweats – amazingly, Nudge had put the laundry away. And she managed to get the blood stains out of it, too! Way to go, Nudge!
Everyone else was still asleep; I could have a few minutes of peace and quiet in the kitchen, sharpening the butchers' knives and practicing my cackle.
I glanced out the hall windows on the way to the kitchen, just to make sure no one was hiding outside, ready to slit my throat. Oh yeah, and there was a picturesque Disney landscape, too, complete with smiling, prancing deer and butterflies. But when you're fending for your life, you don't really care. We were probably a lot safer out there, with those cheerful animals. But we had a mission.
To kill Fang.
See, our caretaker, Jeb last-name-unpronounceable died two years ago. We knew he was dead, we all did – but we weren't sure which one of us killed him. Convinced Fang had beaten us all to the punch, we were impatiently waiting for that fateful day when he was let his guard down. I glanced eagerly at the spot over the mantel – a perfect place to mount his head. Fang knew what we were up to, and was constantly on his guard – but it was four against one, and he was weakening!
I maniacally laughed at the thought of killing Fang, which woke up Gazzy, the horribly-named eight-year-old.
"Morning, Max," Gazzy said.
OMG, LAME CLIFFHANGER!
If you kept reading, kudos to you.