So, yesssss! I'm back! And...I'm posting a chapter for Imaginary tomorrow For now...enjoy my awesome mcnugget-ly cool bacon-ish story of barbecue sauce. I WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY. BECAUSE I LIKE IT SO...there. ENJOY MY RIPE WATERMALONES!
Her P.O.V
She held the pointed object proudly in the air. The handle twirled with mastery in her fingertips. Sighing, she ran the tip over her protruding thumb, dragging the scarlet line across the length of her palm. The knife was coated in dry blood.
"Max, Max, Max." She muttered, glancing at the thick ooze drooling from her hands. It dribbled with ease, permanently set into a thin line. A humorless laugh seeped from her teeth, fading away as she let her eyelids shut. A blanket of darkness coated her pupils.
"We've got a guilty, filthy, soul." Muttering a string of incoherent phrases, she twirled the string of her hoodie. The metal zipper on her jacket hung loosely, waltzing with gravity. A tear slipped out from the corner of her eyes.
Sociopath, they had labeled her. A heartless killer. She wasn't really, though. It wasn't just some hobby, some pointless game. It was revenge. For the people who had pushed her, stabbed her in the back. She just...broke. No one was there to pick up her pieces.
Her shoulder rattled violently. No one would ever understand. Twiddling with the sleeve of her jacket, she cuffed the material. The cotton rode up her arm. Simple. Her life was simple. She was normal. An average teenage girl.
The smell of death and rotting flesh wafting through the household didn't convince her much, however.
X.0
His P.O.V
He fumbled with the tube, twisting the clear object between his index finger and thumb. A sudden urge to yank the oxygen from the girl arose in his nerves, electrifying the pads of his fingers with an unpleasant horror. He jerked back.
"What's wrong with me?" He whispered, pinching the skin on his wrist. Red surfaced. With a sudden grunt, he swiped the blood away with the edge of his tee. Sniffling the snot that threatened to droop from his nose, he shut his eyes tightly.
He was a murderer. A sinner. The very pores of his fingertips were blanketed in a thick coating of crimson. Without warning, he felt his tear ducts water involuntarily. This girl was so weak. She was suffering so greatly. He wasn't a sociopath. He was merely a mercy-killer.
Pain coursed through his veins, the blue strips under his eyes twitching slightly. The girl before him struggled, her palms waving frantically back and forth. He kept his eyes shut, pressuring the pillow further. All movement ceased.
The patient was dead.
X.0
Her P.O.V
Lights flashed through the sky, eliciting the city with a quaint thunderstorm. She grinned at the flashes, white pouring through the clouds like black ink in a glass of water. The pistol settled comfortably in her side. It felt almost normal. As if she were but wearing a necklace around her throat.
The round form of her eyes morphed into narrow slits. Squinting, the pads of her boots thumped silently against cracked pavement of the sidewalks. So close, her mind whispered. Yet so very far away.
She hummed until the man was but a few feet away. An arm's length at most. Her pistol seared with satisfaction, rubbing the tip of her fingers against the barrel. The man didn't notice. He was too busy, apparently caught up in some business call. Here they stood, at the bus stop.
"Dylan..." She whispered, catching the attention of the male. He tilted his head, craning his neck in just the perfect position. Eyebrows knitted together, his eyes took on a confused appearance, pausing the man on the phone. The vein across his neck pulsed ever so calmly.
Blood seeped from his mouth, spilling from the gaps between his misshapen teeth. With a despicable attempt for air, he struggled for oxygen, kneeing across the now stained streets. She had shot him in his stomach.
"Bang." She hissed, spitting on the form below. He looked so pathetic. Useless, she mused. Red coated her pores, overwhelming her with an instantaneous reward of satisfaction. Closing her eyes, she brought her curled thumb up to her lips. Salt. Metal. Guilt.
She walked away from the scene. But not before bashing the man's face in with the spiked tip of her shoes. A good luck charm at it's finest indeed.
X.0
His P.O.V
"My little Angel." He whispered to the tombstone. His hands trickled down the sides, defining every crevice in the rock. Moss had covered her name. With an overpowering urge to dig up the body beneath, he bit his knuckle. Until he felt thickness. Liquid.
Lifeless tears danced across his face. A blanket of moisture lathered his cheeks, staining the gleaming patches of skin with a tight, constricted feel. He sobbed until he could sob no more. He screamed to the stars until his throat burned with rage.
And, with a sudden bile forming in the midst of his esophagus, he thought of the many children's lives lost. Rotting bodies buried six feet under. Flesh dissipating, fading into bone. All because of him. His merciful soul, his sinful ways. A clash between right and wrong.
He wanted to die.
X.0
"A cancer patient murdered in her sleep. Breaking news..." The monotonous voice droned on from inside the heavy box placed in his bedroom. His fists clenched, grasping harshly onto the bedsheets below. Murder...It was official. He was a killer.
"Idiots." He seethed. They didn't see the girl in such a fragile state. They only saw her lifeless, pale body. That's the only thing they'd ever see. Just a dead body. Death by deprivation of oxygen. Strangulation. Suffocation. The words rolled off the witness's tongues were acid, dripping venomously with lies and the sick want to be seen across the TV.
He swallowed down a bead of vomit. Nauseating reality overpowered the organs inside him. Everything was rattling, shaking as if an random outburst of earthquakes were concurring inside of his body.
Grabbing the pill bottle beside his bed, he flipped the lid open, exposing bright blue capsules hidden inside. He plucked a pill from the container. Pushing the pain reliever against his tongue, he chugged down a glass of water, swallowing the concoction.
"And, shockingly enough, another murder has taken place. One of a much more violent state..." Violent, huh? He angled his head to the screen, blue and red blaring across the glass. Caution tape filled his view. Almost as if he were there, he saw the body. A man, his age, shot in the stomach. Not to mention the bashed skull dripping onto the pavement, filling the cracks with an inappropriate paint.
"Police believe this, yet again, has been the work of Maximum Ride..." Her name was spoken with fear, as if exhibiting pure evil from her cracked lips. People were interviewed. Questions were asked. And a picture was shown.
Her brown eyes stabbed his heart with a improper tug, reeling his attention even closer. Pressing the pause button, he let his dark irises scan the photo, remembering every detail of the young lady's face. Not brown. Chocolate. Not blonde. Golden.
And sudden, Nicholas Martinez didn't feel so alone anymore.
X.0
Wasn't just so amazing? I deserve a cupcake. And a Big Mac. Man I'm hungry. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...R&R what you think about my BRAND NEW FRICKIN' story. I appreciate any type of review (Including flames). So...thanks? It's been awhile since I was last on here. Awkward entities surround the atmosphere...*Yoda slashes your head off* PLOT TWIIIIIIIISSSSTTT! Thank you, yoda.
P.S. TO MY TALK READERS...I'm redoing the whole story. As well as Imaginary. So deal. (I'm sorry, was that too harsh?)
-A Carnival Of Idiots On Show