Memory Three
The silence was quickening. His heart was a steady beat in his chest, a small pounding noise against his chest, quite similar to the blue chipped fan above as it slowly moved against the stale air.
The girl was no more than three yet she was perfect.
He would wait. Her parents were up. Their laughter reached his ears from across the street from their open windows. He could easily kill them, but for what purpose? He had no need for their blood or flesh. No, he would wait. Waiting was easy, and the prey in the end would come to you.
No energy would be wasted.
Maybe in time the parents would conceive another child, another babe with the same blood in its veins as the little girl had running through hers. A slow smile spread on his face and his fingers started to itch. He imagined them running across her small face, taking her blood, bottling her up in small vials to be stored and play with.
Experiments were never a hundred percent. He would need another child one day.
Yes, the parents he would keep.