|Mo - 2012|

I stared down at her lifeless body; that beautiful crimson splattered across her clothing, her face and her bare chest. There was no emotion in my eyes, there had rarely ever been, I merely gazed down in fascination and bewilderment at the beauty of the human body.

There was no regret in my eyes, I did what had to be done, and she had to be killed. It didn't matter to me who she was. In my view she was an obstacle. She had taken away everything from me, just because I was 'different' because I didn't have the mind of a regular human being. I always tried to ignore it, to put it behind me. I refused to let myself stop to her lever, but I just couldn't forgive her. Now what is done is done.

She is dead, my mother is dead. The grin that splits my lips frightens me for a second, before I let it consume me. I always enjoyed the feeling of a job well done, and I could safely say this was it. He was safe now, I had nothing more to worry about.

With a sigh I ran my bloody hand through my curling brown hair. It was pouring, and I decided that it would be best if I got home.

You must be wondering who I am, and I will explain. My name is not important, I have never used it, for now I will be called Mortimer Virgos, or if you'd like just Mo. I am only 15 years old and living alone in my own studio apartment. I have the life of a normal teenage girl, I go to school, I do homework, etc. Except now I think that just may change a bit.

Stepping into my small studio I walked over to the bathroom and started up a bath. I turned my gaze to the mirror, frowning as a single tear slipped down my cheek. What a shame. I quickly wiped my blood stained hand over the mirror, erasing my feeble image from it. Making my way over to the CD player I slipped in a Massive Attack CD. Black Milk began playing through the studio, the music calming me. I stepped into the bath, letting the hot water wash away all the blood. I was rather drowsy, I decided, and thought it best that I go straight to sleep.

I had no worries, as one might think, I knew they would never find the body. I was always precise. It felt strange, now that I was a killer, yet I didn't feel any different. This was the problem, the reason as to why my mother hated me; I was mentally retarded.

Now, don't get me wrong. I can appear perfectly normal, except for a few of my strange habits; such as constantly drinking water.

After my bath I went straight to bed, snuggling into the comforter and letting sleep overcome me. Everything would go smoothly, I comforted myself, and for a moment I actually believed it. But how was I to know that just a few weeks later I would be killed?