Sick of Living Unwilling to Die
I saw her running across the streets. Raindrops were falling heavily and she didn't carry an umbrella, her bright red dress was completely soaked. The rain also hid the tears coming from the corner of her eyes. I watched her from the window of my apartment. When I saw her reaching another boulevard I quickly went after her.
It was already dark outside; because of the rainclouds on the sky even the moonlight wasn't able to be seen. Just a few people were walking there and nobody cared about her or me. They were so busy with their own personal problems and didn't have the time to even just look around. Such selfish fools like them shouldn't have the right to live.
They didn't even turn to help when she screamed.
By the time she got home, I was already after her. She didn't notice why I had been following her, she was walking unsuspectingly. When she stopped, I stepped next to her and asked what the time is. She turned away for a moment to look at her pocket watch. This single moment was enough for me. It was a perfect moment but I had to act quickly. What a shame.
She didn't even have the time to realize what's happening with her. Just a quick cut and her crimson blood was flowing down the streets. Even the rain couldn't wash it away. It was beautiful.
However, she wasn't dead yet.
She screamed.
In vain.
In pain.
She cried out that she wanted to live.
Her pleading was a fascinating symphony to my refined ears.
The rain washed out even more and more blood from the scar. I wish I could have painted some wicked pictures of her painful face with that crimson color. That would have been miraculous.
Her pretty neat dress was bright red but it couldn't hide the blood. It became filthy and it stick to her body, showing that how beautiful she was.
She was still breathing. And it annoyed me. She obviously needed another cut.
One more stab for the last time and she slowly drifted to the afterlife. At least that's what I thought at the time. She collapsed on the ground, wallowing in her own blood. I threw my trusty knife next to her lifeless body. Now I know that it was the biggest mistake I have ever made. Her death was uncertain, even though her life was, too.
I looked at her one last time before turning around and simply walking away like if nothing had happened. The sight of her lifeless corpse was so artistic that I let out a pleased teardrop. I wiped it and walked away.
I could only hear the rain and my footsteps echoing on the empty street. A few minutes later another sound became audible. I suspiciously turned around to face the most astonishing horrorterror in my entire lifetime. She was walking beside me, loosely pulled her feet on the ground, coughing up more and more blood. She looked like a living dead. In fact, she really was. My knife was glistening in her hands; I could see it in the dim light of the street lamps. I saw her lifting it and throwing to my direction.
She didn't missed and I just smiled as I was falling down onto the ground. It happened in a blink of an eye but it seemed like hours for me. Even with a knife stuck in my chest I could clearly believe that this was not the last time we met. It couldn't be.
I pulled out the knife and let my blood spill and become a disgustingly wonderful mess with hers.
We both survived. What a misfortune. Maybe next time...
It was already dark outside; because of the rainclouds on the sky even the moonlight wasn't able to be seen. Just a few people were walking there and nobody cared about her or me. They were so busy with their own personal problems and didn't have the time to even just look around. Such selfish fools like them shouldn't have the right to live.
They didn't even turn to help when she screamed.
By the time she got home, I was already after her. She didn't notice why I had been following her, she was walking unsuspectingly. When she stopped, I stepped next to her and asked what the time is. She turned away for a moment to look at her pocket watch. This single moment was enough for me. It was a perfect moment but I had to act quickly. What a shame.
She didn't even have the time to realize what's happening with her. Just a quick cut and her crimson blood was flowing down the streets. Even the rain couldn't wash it away. It was beautiful.
However, she wasn't dead yet.
She screamed.
In vain.
In pain.
She cried out that she wanted to live.
Her pleading was a fascinating symphony to my refined ears.
The rain washed out even more and more blood from the scar. I wish I could have painted some wicked pictures of her painful face with that crimson color. That would have been miraculous.
Her pretty neat dress was bright red but it couldn't hide the blood. It became filthy and it stick to her body, showing that how beautiful she was.
She was still breathing. And it annoyed me. She obviously needed another cut.
One more stab for the last time and she slowly drifted to the afterlife. At least that's what I thought at the time. She collapsed on the ground, wallowing in her own blood. I threw my trusty knife next to her lifeless body. Now I know that it was the biggest mistake I have ever made. Her death was uncertain, even though her life was, too.
I looked at her one last time before turning around and simply walking away like if nothing had happened. The sight of her lifeless corpse was so artistic that I let out a pleased teardrop. I wiped it and walked away.
I could only hear the rain and my footsteps echoing on the empty street. A few minutes later another sound became audible. I suspiciously turned around to face the most astonishing horrorterror in my entire lifetime. She was walking beside me, loosely pulled her feet on the ground, coughing up more and more blood. She looked like a living dead. In fact, she really was. My knife was glistening in her hands; I could see it in the dim light of the street lamps. I saw her lifting it and throwing to my direction.
She didn't missed and I just smiled as I was falling down onto the ground. It happened in a blink of an eye but it seemed like hours for me. Even with a knife stuck in my chest I could clearly believe that this was not the last time we met. It couldn't be.
I pulled out the knife and let my blood spill and become a disgustingly wonderful mess with hers.
We both survived. What a misfortune. Maybe next time...