Blood trickles from the multiple gashes that litter the broken body, pooling onto the ground like dripping paint from an artist's brush.
Red. It contrasts against the ashen gray of skin and the pearly white of bones that pierced though, glistening wetly in the night air.
The body shivers and shudders, drawing wrenching and rattling breath as the lungs begin to fill with the victim's blood.
I stare in morbid fascination at the girl who has been violated and left to die alone in this alley. A sense of sick and perverse pleasure builds in my stomach, though this was not my doing.
The numbers tick away above her head. She has hours left. Hours more of suffering. Alone. I wonder what will be said about her. If the people who find her mangled body will feel pity. What they will say. A tragedy. A tragedy that she suffered for so long.
I approach slowly, my footsteps echoing in the dark alley. Her eyelids flutter and I can feel her begin to hope.
"Please," she croaks.
"Please," she begs.
I kneel down, running my hand through her hair in the mockery of a caress. Her eyes shut once more, a small smile appearing on her scarred face.
I lift her head. Delicately. Gently. Then I slam it into the pavement.
She goes limp, her jaw slack. I retreat, wiping her wind dark blood on the rough denim of my jeans as I leave the unconscious girl behind.
Peace. That was all I had to offer the dead.
A crime to replace the pain.
After all.
I write sins, not tragedies.
AN: I can't believe it's taken me so long to do a B one-shot. To put it simply, he fascinates me. I imagine this is what B would be like if caught in a merciful or sentimental moment. He would rebel against the numbers in any way possible, and ending her pain was the only way. Loosely based off the Panic! At the Disco song, though more off the title than anything else. B would rather commit sins then be faced with the world engulfed in sadness. That was my interpretation anyway.