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

I laughed silently, without humor, as I looked down at the brilliant atmosphere of melancholy that penetrated the sordid church and its occupants. The stained glass slightly blocked the idyllic picture that lay before my eyes, and I accidentally burned myself on the cross representation that bore Jesus Christ’s image, but I did not need to worry. The gloomy forecast and rain filled sky that encompassed the Sun’s enormous girth was enough to protect me from its radiant blast of fiery inferno. I saw a few tears escape from the corners of Cierra’s eyes, and my acute eyesight also caught a few of them from beneath her friend’s lashes. She walked towards her mother’s coffin, and, with much hesitation, lifted the veil that covered her closed eyelids so fragilely. Ci left the church in a state of forlornness, fretful tears crisscrossing her face, just as the stitches of her jet black veil did, but with more immediacy and movement.

I followed her trail, hopping to a different window lithely, without even slipping on the wet concrete, where she and Ashley waited in the connected funeral home lobby for Cierra’s father to make his final farewell. Later, the burial proceeded like most dreary, rained-on funerals, but the few people there had no tears left to cry, obviously they were very close to Mrs. Trent, and to Ci, because they hugged her with passion, unlike the dreary visitors at the funeral home who couldn’t take the time to stand out in the rain and watch a friend lain to rest. I might have to kill the close ones, but maybe not, it depends how solitary I can make her already pathetic existence. I always find it good to tie up loose ends, though.

I took a deeper look at the procession, the Priest contrasted the bleak harbingers of black unrealism, with his white attire and soaked bible. He threw three handfuls of dark soil onto the closed coffin and let it sit, flipping through the bible, soiling its sanctity with his filthy hands.

“From dust you came, to dust you shall return. Jesus Christ, our Savior, shall raise you up on the last day.” They lowered the casket; she rested, though they didn’t know that she wouldn’t be resting for long…

“Let us go in the peace of the Lord.” He said, concluding the sanctimonious and morbid procession of damp haired mourners back to their homes, to live another day, for now, that is.

Ashley, Cierra, and her father walked towards their car, which was black, to fit the sobriety of the momentous death of a Trent. They screeched off, anger and sadness at the brutal crime that had taken the life of their beloved mother, friend, and wife. I ran at my highest speed after them, deciding that I would hide in their house for the remainder of the day, then the fun and games would begin again.

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The slow and calculated thump of a sleeping heart fills my ears as I watch. As I listen.

I only thought that it was hers for a brief moment.

Hers was faster; hers was beset by the frantic hysteria and tear fall that emanated from her very skin at the moment. This was how I made the real victims suffer. I took their hearts and twisted them about until it was an agony behind their weak rib cage, I took their lungs and squeezed so hard that they felt as if breathing were a torture, like they had lost their arm, and still bled out, but couldn’t feel the limb anymore, lying across the world, rotting. I took a look at my watch and saw the flash of midnight pass it by.

I emerged from the attic of her suburban home, creeping noiselessly to her bedroom, where her friend slept on the floor, in the throes of a horrible nightmare, which would be far more ghastly when she awoke, or didn’t, for that matter. But I didn’t want her to be awake; I knew what I wanted to do with her corpse, it might not hurt the girl, but it would pain Ci. I bit her neck, immediately severing her jugular and spinal cord, and then I arranged her body in the most perfect way. I placed her hands underneath her head, splaying her lengthy purple and blonde hair simply across the inflatable mattress.

I left for my crypt, though I would come by in the morning to see my Sugar’s reaction, as long as it was still raining heavily and I would not be burned to a crisp by bright old Mr. Sunshine hanging his hat in the sky. I licked my lips, just in the slight and mild anticipation of her sweet nectar on the tip of my tongue.

After the sun rose, it was again shaded by the billowing masks of condensation and sprinklings of serene rainfall soaking my head. I strutted towards her house, my black leather jacket making a wake of rain spread behind it. I heard a scream, lifting above the pitter-patter of rain slapping wet concrete. It was her scream. I listened harder. My darling’s heartbeat increased with the screech. A significant smirk crossed my features.

I entered the house. 56 Burroughs Drive: in the best neighborhood in town, and the most tragic. Her father stood near the front entrance, phoning 9-1-1 with hastening heart-rate. My silent footsteps took me to removing the phone from his hand, crushing it with a great force. He looked at me, fear in his eyes, while I just wore the classic gin, infused with laughter, whilst I roped his hands together and forced him into his own pantry, he had already blacked out, though. I was saving him for later.

“Dad,” called the voice of my angel, “Are they coming?” She asked with a tremor in her intonation. I walked up her stairway, not even tripping on the tangled carpet. I approached behind her crouched form, behind the shaking shoulders that imitated true sorrow and sobbing. She didn’t know what she was feeling. I spoke, to which she only lifted her head slightly, showing shock at the new voice gracing her hearing, or recognition.

“You know, it speaks volumes that you continue to hide from your fate,” She turned around, realization striking her eyes, as my form appeared from the shadows in her room. Her room, which was now a girl’s death shroud, “You’ll always be alone.”

“I know you, from somewhere…” She said, her crestfallen face obscured by ephemeral rivers tracking their paths down her cheeks, gracefully subliming into the open air, evaporating with the energy given to it by the salty sweet caress of warm humanity. Luke-warm.

“Maybe your nightmares have escaped from your head.” I said, taking another meaningful step towards her. I could practically feel the heat escalating from her bloodstream, and I bathed in its intense warmth. She shuddered, and, without her noticing, I took a quick pace forward, so that I was visibly brushing against her.

“Maybe you brought this upon yourself.” I whispered into her ear, curling a strand of her jet hair around my finger, while she unwittingly stepped closer to my form. I strangely wanted her to kiss me again, to feel her hot breath condense on my cold skin… but I had work to do.

I left her next to the body of her dead friend, helpless as can be, and prepared to torture her emotionally. Her father—physically.