I needed to kill.
It was dark. Not a single survivor of the Infection had walked through the streets all day. I stayed in my hiding spot until the sun began to set. If I were still human, the amount of time I spent in the same crouched position would have annoyed me to no end, making my legs feel tired. I wasn't human anymore. I was willing to stay in my cramped vantage point until someone came along. Someone I could kill.
As the sun began to set, I noticed a lone girl walking down the street, clutching a baseball bat to her chest. With my vision, I could see her eyes flicker nervously from side to side, her knuckles pale white. The baseball bat was broken at one end, large splinters of wood making up the handle. She was dressed in a black, tight-fitting mini-dress that was torn down one side and frayed at the edges. She was missing a shoe, but the strap of a stiletto heel was still clinging to her left foot. Her hair was dyed jet-black, and blond roots barely showed themselves at the top of her head. Her eyes were outlined in dark mascara, and deep red lipstick covered her trembling lips, smudged at the edges. Tears were running down her face, and she was struggling to keep her dress from falling apart while limping down the dirty sidewalk.
Shifting into my crouching position, I aimed carefully. I was not going to miss her. She continued to limp down the street, eyes wide with fear. I ran my tongue across my lips: Adrenaline always made the kill more exciting. I had no intention of eating her, or drinking her blood, or anything of the sort… I just needed to kill. I could almost feel myself itch with the desire to end a life, and it made me feel even more crazed, more fidgety than usual.
I tensed my muscles, my eyes focusing on my prey. Her black dress was embroidered with glittering sequins, and I focused on her dress. I waited for a moment of weakness, and it came. She stumbled forward, tripping on her single stiletto and dropping her bat. I leaped into the air and landed on my prey. She let out a desperate scream, then covered her face with her arms. I pinned her down with my knees and started to rip at her sides, the black material of her dress tearing with every strike. She continued to scream, and I was slightly disappointed that she had chosen not to fight back. I dug my knees harder into her stomach, causing her to yell even louder.
"Help me!" She yelped, tears running down her face. "Somebody, anybody! Help!" She started to cough blood, and I sent a single claw across her face. Four ragged, bleeding wounds now covered the majority of her pretty little face, and she grew silent. I knew she was still alive, though, for I had intended to enjoy killing her: I wanted a slow, excruciating death. These were just flesh wounds.
I raised both of my clawed hands, intent on ripping through her chest: the death blow. Before I could finish her off, I felt a hard pain in my side. I had been kicked off of the girl, and I stumbled away. I looked up at my attacker, a blurred image of another girl in a pink jacket with her hair swept back into a ponytail. She raised a gun to my head, and the world went black.