I'm Just the Worst Type of Guy to Argue With.

I felt her wispy and food deprived hips and pressed my lips firm against hers, smirking at her combinative oxymoron of disgust and lust, “Now, I have some killing to do.” I said, jumping the high height to the steeple, and jumping straight to the bottom of the tower. I still heard my darling captive’s sobs as I locked the door to the steeple behind me, entirely sealing the victims-to-be in their fate, and walked into the church that I had once feared so much for its sanctified contents.

I walked calmly into the main room of the church, filled with the mourning dove coo of tears. The occupants looked up to see my hygiene-lacking blood covered persona, and their already trembling limbs began to shake with fear. The nearest person to me, an elderly woman with features quite similar to that of Cierra’s mother, presumably Ci’s grandmother; collapsed into spasms. I heard her heart race, then cease. I used my blood-soaked loafer to poke the side of her blank and lifeless face to the side, “Pity, I would’ve liked to kill her, all of the Trent women are quite lovely, delectable, in fact. Oh well, I’ve got the rest of you to kill, now don’t I?” They ran for the doors, I didn’t even bother to chase after their pitiful whines. They would be locked out of salvation anyways, God couldn’t save them now.

“But, before I kill you all in horrible painful ways that I still have yet to imagine, I want to bring you a passive audience member, well, she did lock you in here, so I don’t know if she’s exactly uninvolved… but she’s not going to be the one murdering you. I am.” I disclosed my true face from behind the gauntlet of humanity that I wore over my features. In a typical fashion my teeth elongated and my brow curved more, while my eyes turned into the same pained crimson as the blood that I would soon be consuming.

I knocked on the door that was the entrance to the church. I told her to come in. I heard her sob as she unchained the door, tears running on her hands and making her grip slip ever-so-slightly. I smiled at her as she walked in, head hung so low that one could’ve sworn it was at her knees.

“This is the girl that’s condemned you... Wave hello to your friends and family, Sugar, they are soon to be in death’s cold clutches… but not soon enough.” I took her hand and waved it at the panicking crowd; she just let me perform that action with her limp appendage, like a small infant would. She gasped, tears choking her airways and forcing their way up to the surface, making her vision cloud like it never had before.

I was going to teach her how to die, but she wouldn’t be the test dummy. She had just killed fifty people, guilt by association, and murder of the second degree.

I figured that I’d start with the remaining grandparents, make sure that they have a memorable death, rather than passing away in their beds surrounded by people that love them, or anything splendorous and cliché like that.

“Elderly people, line up.” This was going to be a killing factory. One by one they would watch and wait, knowing exactly how much time they had left, counting down the seconds. An older looking version of Ashley lined up first, chin held high.

“I’ll not let you take my spirit along with my body.” She stated sternly, still clearly in denial of her horrid fate. I saw that she wore glasses; I decided to use that to my advantage. I took her glasses off of her face gently and her jaw dropped in shock, until I broke them, leaving myself with a pretty piece of magnifying glass.

I reached my talented fingers into her eye-socket and ever-so-carefully moving the eye out with my finger nail. I repeated this to get the result of her eye balls hanging out of their sockets, but still being connected to the brain, so she could see.

I took the glass and began my work.

I took the salivating left eye in my hand, making dried blood flake onto the iris irritatingly, and I began to peel it as one would an apple, taking the protective film off. I did this so tenderly so that it would be more excruciating, as the edge moves like individual needles over the skin and like saw-blades it cuts into the ancient eye. I do this again, to the other. I smoothly push them back in, and tears fall from the ducts like they had never been shed before. I pushed my fingers into the recently-peeled eyes and all the way to the back of her rotting brain. She fell to the floor. I kicked her limp body aside with a swift motion of my foot.

“Next!” I shout arbitrarily, waiting for the next person to step forward and collapse into the welcoming arms of blade or bane. A few hacks and even some more creative killings later, I was left with about thirty people, three of them children, who huddled together under their parents’ wings. Pushing those people aside, I looked at the kiddies.

One of the three looked me straight in my inhuman eyes, without a trace of fear other than his small trembling jaw. It would be fun to break this one.

Grasping the meek girl next to him, I laid her down on the carpet before the boy, she struggled, but my knife met her skin first, where it sliced through sinew, autopsy style, down her small chest, leaving at an angle to slice over the ribcage on either side. Blood trailed from the incisions. She screamed, it was so shrill that my enhanced hearing couldn’t take it, in anger; I stabbed the knife in her mouth, penetrating her miniscule windpipe, and enraging a fountain of blood from her sliced lips. The little girl remained pale and dead, though she was still warm from when she was so recently alive.

A tear streaked down the man-child’s face, and I concluded that I had sufficiently broken his reserve. I took the already-caked-with-blood knife and pushed it through his femoral artery, in order to let him bleed out while I killed the other youngling, slowly cutting its face off.

Turning to a beautiful young woman, supposedly from Cierra and Ashley’s school, I commanded her:

“Strip.”

After her clothes came off, I did quick work of flaying her smooth young body, as I had done it many times before, to other victims. I sat her next to the dying boy, whose resolve had very much ‘left the building.’

The blood on my hands was too tempting to resist, I ate a few of the younger adults, letting them drop after I drained their life source. Bored with a few of the crying ones, I just decapitated them, making sure that for the six seconds that they were still alive, they could see their own spine and neck flesh. It was quite enjoyable when their eyes rolled back in disgust and death, at the same time.

Finding myself with ten more to torture, I ingeniously killed a few, forcing them to bleed out from small painful incisions, in specific anatomical areas, which were screaming cuts to make, believe you me.

Finally, only six were left, those were ones that Cierra’s eyes darted to in the first place, meaning that she was most worried about their safety out of all the others in this room. Normally, some torture and slow deaths would be best, but thinking innovatively, if she is shocked by their demise and it happens in a matter of seconds, couldn’t it be more damaging to her psyche?

Time to test it out.

Grasping a longer knife, like a machete, I swung it to the lined-up captives, knocking all of their heads off in simultaneous milliseconds. Turning back to Cierra, her eyebrows were nearly to her hairline; her shock and abhorrence were so large.

“I’m sorry Sugar, but none of these little kills were half as good as killing your mother, must say, your aunt’s eyes rolling out when her head hit the ground was pretty funny,” he chuckled.

She collapsed into fits and spasms of tears. Light streamed through the stained glass windows, it began casting illumine embossed crosses before her, it was a biblical site. God, the Bible was a joke.

“Come on Sugar,” he gruffly picked her up from the bloodstained carpet, “I think you need to stop overreacting about the natural process of death.”

“There’s nothing natural about you,” she spat. He smirked:

“I know.”