ATTENTION:

The following passage may or may not make sense to any of the previous or future posts on this "story". This "story" is merely a mix of exerts from the demented mind of a slightly demonic author. These paragraphs may be compared to, "a twisted, gorier version of the classic Goosebumps stories, only more mind-bottling and suspenseful," as quoted by my own mother. Most end in blood, death, or a cliff-hanger. I'm not promising that you will ever be saved from these cliff-hangers, either. So be prepared for a suspenseful climax, and then shear end, with nothing more than a cold brick wall to slam into. Kind of like jumping off a building, and expecting pavement and death, and only receiving falling for eternity. So, enough rambling. Enjoy, and please leave a review of my story or message me! =)

And so the chase begins. She thought as she smirked smugly at the police officer who was probably positive he had her cornered. She was standing at what looked like a dead end alley. On either side, dirty, brick apartment buildings arched through the sky, reaching up to caress the mid-day sun. Clothes lines cluttered with wet laundry were strung from window to window across the narrow alleyway. A police car, the one the officer had been driving, was parked diagonally across the cobblestone road where it had screeched to a halt, sending a beautiful collaboration of sparks and charcoal-ed asphalt raining down like streamers at a parade. The officer was kneeling down behind the open driver-side door of his car, his head and hands peaking through the window. She needn't look at him twice, and know him to be a rookie.

And so she stood there, knowing he was too terrified to actually shoot at her. A smile crossed her lips as his shaking hands cocked the pistol. He took aim at her forehead, blank and center, like he'd been taught. She had been taught how to do this once as well. Long, long ago.

Suddenly, a memory began playing through her head. A flashback. She was standing in her cabin at summer camp. It was really boot camp, but the leaders thought if they slapped the word 'summer' on the title, they wouldn't be sued for putting kids ages 9-18 in danger of serious harm everyday for a month and a half straight in the hot, July, California sun. Heatstroke was the least of anyone's worries, though, here at Camp Mackenzie. You were more likely to be attacked by a narwhal in the middle of Kansas then to not be shot, stabbed, or seriously threatened in your first week of camp.

But here she stood, the only child in her cabin to not be hurt or threatened in any way, and the month and a half was almost up. Perhaps it was the fact that she was younger than most kids here, being only 10, and yet, she was far more skilled. She thought back to her first day at camp. When they had been each allowed to pick out a 'weapon' to use in a war strategy game. Most of the 'weapons' were paintball guns, and smoke grenades. But she, the barely 10-year-old, had went into the weapons arsenal, and found a pistol, with real bullets. She knew very well that this was a real gun when she picked it up, and when she shot it, and killed the drill Sargent.

After that day, no one wanted to talk to her. No one wanted to stand next to her in assembly line. Or eat near her at lunch. No one messed with her either. And the more she thought about it, the more she saw this as one of the shaping factors to her crude personality these days.

But the flashback continued.

And then, she stood on the dock. With him. This memory pained her like steel in her esophagus. She remembered this moment very clearly, for it was the only time she had ever regretted being trained to kill...

She was 17. Standing on the dock with possibly one of the hottest guys she had ever encountered. And he liked her! He actually liked her! Not only did she have a friend, she had a lover! For once in her life, she felt like she had a purpose aside from killing! He leaned in to kiss her. His sandy-blond hair tickled her as he pressed his warm lips, wet and soothing like ice cream on a hot day, yet warm like oozing honey, against hers.

It was an odd time to make such a comparison as this, but in the moment where she stood now in front of this cop, it was the same type of day, warm but breezy, and almost the same time as her memory.

His lips met hers, and ignited her skin with electricity as his thick, tan, muscle toned arms wrapped around her waist. Now. She thought, though she wanted more than anything for this tinkling little voice in her head, well more in her gut, she observed, to vanish and leave her with a single happy moment in all of her crude, contorted, demented life. But no. It would not go away. It has to be now. The voice screeched at her. She could feel it in her gut. The instinct to hunt, to strike, to kill. The instinct, alone, she had been taught to follow, despite what her mind may tell her. For this instinct, which was bred into few, and taught to even fewer, was a great weapon to posses, and never failed. It never missed a beat. It never told you wrong. It never, ever failed.

And so, she struck him with the 4 inch blade she had hidden easily in her sweatshirt sleeve. It was a chilly, August day, and no one even thought twice when she wore the sweater. She might have even been looked at weird if she hadn't worn long sleeves. And so she struck him, her blade easily puncturing his heart, the way she had been taught. In between the ribs. If she had been merely a centimeter off, she would have only struck a bone, and perhaps cracked it. But she didn't miss. She hit her target point blank. His body collapsed in her arms and she tossed him in the water, watching his heavy corpse sink to the bottom of the lake. It never fails. She thought, and then walked away weeping silently.

Now, standing here on a day much like that one 4 years ago, she nearly cried. She had never felt remorse for her actions. Not ever. But thinking of him on that chilly August afternoon. By the lake. The lake of Camp Mackenzie. She wanted to give up. The camp had started this. She had been shipped off to a boot camp because the foster homes would not take her. The camp director, one of her last victims, and more then likely the reason this officer was after her now, had taken her under his wing. She had been allowed to stay all year long.

8 years of my life I spent in that putrid wasteland! If only I had escaped earlier! She thought as she stared down the barrel of the officer's pistol.

Anger balled insider her. The same anger she had been fueled ravenously on for 12 years now. The gasoline to keep her fire a-blaze. The feeling in her gut screamed at her, 'Do it! Kill him now!' She stepped forward, and, in one, swift motion, retrieved the dagger from her coat sleeve. Positioned for the heart, just below the collar bone, with the blade pointed downward in order to pierce the organ directly, she launched the dagger through the air.

The blade pierced his heart and in a last effort, he shot at her. The bullet barely grazed against her cheek. He wailed and fell to the ground bleeding profusely. It never fails. She smiled and walked away.