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About Me

Found 2 results

  1. Morrigan

    Cheshire Grin

    Elizabeth's feet throbbed. She looked down to see what it was that was making them throb to see that she was standing on a pile of rocks outside somewhere, no shoes on. She took a step forward, the rocks digging into the tender flesh of her feet. She took another step. It was agony. Why did it hurt so badly? Where was she exactly? She didn't remember leaving Dexter's apartment. Actually she knew she hadn't left Dexter's apartment, so how did she get there? Wherever there was. She looked up from her feet to see people. Not just any people but detectives, forensic scientists, cops. There was yellow tape, flashing lights. It couldn't really be? Her killing ground? She looked beyond the vehicles and people, her shoddy killing house appearing out of a mist. It looked more decrepit then it normally did. The right side seemed to droop almost like it were about to fall off the house altogether. The roof was more of a brownish red instead of a red like she remembered it being. Elizabeth took another step toward the house. It practically doubled in size. She looked up and around her, the house's walls bending outward as she breathed in. She released the breath and the walls returned to normal. She repeated the action watching as the house mimicked her. It should have been more strange to her but she was sure that houses did things like that. It made sense didn't it? She took ascended the steps, her throbbing feet protesting each step until she was in the house. It was like her feet didn't want her to enter but once they were inside they had lost so they complied with her will. Although, now she wanted to leave. The house denied her exit, the door not budging forcing Elizabeth to turn and face the horror within. The walls bled. The screams reverberated through the walls making the house sound like it was groaning. And there, lined up down an endless corridor were her victims. Each strapped and wriggling to get free of the metal slab she had executed them on. Each one laughing hysterically instead of screaming in pain. She took a step toward them. The first one trying to look up to her. “You shouldn't have killed us,” the man said in the many voices of her victims. She opened her mouth to refute the comment but all that came out were garbled letters that she couldn't read. “You shouldn't have killed us,” the voices repeated starting a taunting chant. Elizabeth grabbed at her short hair tugging at it to feel the pain of it but nothing happened. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She leaned against the closest moaning wall sinking to her butt, her eyes closed as she tried to pull herself together. Tried to think of what she could do to the already dead. When she opened her eyes again she was downstairs in her kill room. Looking around the room she saw Dexter, a dark smile of excitement on his face as he reached out to her. She took his hand allowing him to pull her to her feet, across the room to a small corner. The corner was ordinary, sterile. Just as she left it but he brought out a cotton swab, swabbing the corner returning with a q-tip of blood. She looked from the bloodied q-tip back to the corner and the wall had began to bleed. Her eyes widened as she looked up to the gleeful smiling Dexter. She attempted to scream again but still there was nothing that came out. The blood began to fill the room, a small puddle growing quickly to a wading depth. Shortly it was up to Elizabeth's neck. Dexter still stood a few feet away, his ever prominent wicked smile on his face as he held the incriminating evidence up for her to see. The blood rose, covering her face. Elizabeth tried to swim but her feet seemed fused to the floor. The darkness began to settle around her. Where was she again? How did she get there?
  2. Elizabeth panted as she sat in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hands on her face as she began to calm down. She slowly brought her bloodied hands over her choppy brown hair as she took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling. She felt so amazing right then. Her entire body tingling with the triumph of a fresh kill. It was like sex to the veteran serial killer. Elizabeth relaxed where she was for a while, leaning her head back and closing her tired eyes. She was exhausted. Her profession was extremely exhausting but the way she felt right then made it all worth it. Nothing compared to the sensation of torturing a fellow human being, listening to them suffer, before you took the mortality that wasn't yours to take. It was an exhilaration that nothing had ever rivaled for her. She doubted anything ever would either. After a few minutes had passed, her body began to relax, the adrenaline ebbing in her system, her body beginning to shut down from the long days of torture and lack of food. It was when her eyes closed for a few minutes that Elizabeth knew she needed to get up and move before she passed out from sleep deprivation. She didn't sleep well as it was, her mind always working when she hadn't experienced a kill in a while, and when she took someone in to murder she stayed awake for days enjoying the every waking moment that she can. Elizabeth quickly ran her hands over her disheveled hair to push it out of her face. The action was not worth the effort as the dried blood just forced it back into her face. With a groan of displeasure she pushed herself off of the floor to begin the process of cleaning up after herself. Each of her tools, even the unused ones, were placed into a bucket of bleach water. First check mark was done. Next was collecting the evidence that they could use against her when they found the body. She liked to believe they always found the body. She clipped his nails. Shaved every part of his body. Washed him down with bleach. Propped him against the wall while she cleaned up everything else. Elizabeth sat and scrubbed for hours. She started in a corner and scrubbed. She used a small brush and was careful to include everything. Not just the things she knew she had touched but the things she didn't know if she had touched them. The chipped paint cupboards. The sink. The floor, the walls. Everything was carefully scrubbed and rinsed with her yellow gloved hands. It had been hours but for all she knew it could have been days by the time she reached her corpse. He was so beautiful without one of his eyes. It was so sad that she couldn't leave him in his canvas state. The blood that had smeared his body earlier in that day made him look majestic to her. Now he was a blank canvas again and she couldn't repaint him. Elizabeth gave the man a halfhearted smile before she moved to lift him. He was so much heavier now that he was dead, even though he was ten pounds lighter then when she had tugged him down the stairs. Dragging him back up the stairs was a task in itself. Once it was done and he was in his shallow grave miles away from the place that she had just killed him in, she felt the relief that overcame her when she was almost done with her job. She quietly turned and lifted the shovel beginning to methodically cover the man with fresh dirt, the soft crunching sound soothing her tight muscles as she worked. Elizabeth returned to the home and continued to clean. There was always so much to clean after she did her job. The stairs were next. Then the hallways, the rooms. Everything had to be cleaned. No trace that she was ever there could be left. She couldn't be found because she was careless. When Elizabeth was done she walked outside to the hose. She took the scrub pad and bleach to her own body. She scrubbed until her skin began to burn. She still felt dirty, like she had forgotten something but she knew that was how she always felt after a good kill. She got dressed in her fresh replacement clothing after throwing the discarded remnants and trash into her trunk. Finally she was ready to go home. Elizabeth slid into her car and pulled away from the rickety abandoned home in the middle of nowhere, and began towards her home in Miami.
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