The Slaying Of Demons

You are fucking traumatizing.
Every trauma leaves a scar, and I got more than enough to last me a lifetime.

It’s that sound; I can’t put it into words but you can imagine it. She’s sharpening her knife. Slowly back and forth down the blade. You know that sound, the light casts a silver lining upon the sharp metal. The hurt she feels inside she is now about to inflict on another; a nameless, faceless person; a nobody. Someone who means nothing is going to pay for her pain. And that task would become everything.

She planned to take her anger out on the world; the world was the people who lived in it. How easy it was, they walked their life paths oblivious as to what was going to come next.
One moment of surprise and – BANG! You’re fucking dead. She’ll end it for you. Although she actually preferred to draw it out longer than the sudden second of death a gun would provide. Hence the silver lining of that cold, hard butcher knife.

She was ready now; she could feel it building up inside of her. It was time; tonight was the night. All there was left to it now was the cover of nightfall, she sadly had to wait for that. Not long enough for lives to be saved though, she wouldn’t change her mind.
She sat there in her kitchen, by the window in the twilight. Her leather boots propped up on the table, she took a swig of her Corona and a drag of her cigarette stuck between the middle finger and index finger of her left hand. The one doing the killing tonight. She proceeded to wait and her sick twisted, one track predatorial mind was fathoming up all the hate it carried. It would all be released as the life was choked from that one sorry victim.

It was here; it was now. She’s walking down the street at midnight going on early morning. She is lusting for blood and pain, and walking some ten yards in front of her was her for the moment oblivious victim. In the moonlight her hair shone blonde and with every step she took her three-inch stilettos would clatter; you know that sound. She couldn’t have found herself an easier victim. Women on stilettos can’t run, women on stilettos are too fortunate to have learnt how to defend themselves. Women who walked around carelessly like that with their blonde hair swung over their shoulder, and their eyelashes painted long were too ignorant to imagine anything like this ever happening to them.

The air was cold but she was too focused on the task at hand to feel it. She walked at a steady pace behind the girl who maybe at this point felt as if she was being watched. But she didn’t care; she knew the blonde bombshell wasn’t escaping her tonight. Her leather boots had that sound about them, and every time her foot collided with the ground the buckles would make that sound that only metal buckles could make; you know that sound. It’s the sound of vigilance; you know you should look out when you hear footsteps like that approaching. It’s the sound of a drunk biker walking into the bar looking for free alcohol, and he’s armed with clenched fists, or the sound of the long past his sell by date; good for nothing man looking for a cheap piece of ass on Santa Monica Boulevard. You know that sound.

The second of killing time; the moon behind clouds as if it’s afraid to see. The darkness hung over this dark moment in time. She took a stride and her right hand cupped over the blonde bombshell’s mouth, her strong arms keeping that bitch in place, she didn’t even have time for an audible scream. Fear clouded Blondie’s vision along with salty, panicked tears.
“Don’t you dare cry” She spat in Blondie’s ears, her voice dripping with vitriol.

BANG- and her weapon of choice slices through Bombshell’s torso, maybe scratching a rib as it went along. She’s in the moment now, slaying her demons as it were. And the blade came down on the girl again slicing through her body so effortlessly, blood was pouring out of her and her knees buckled; her weight dragging her down to the ground. Her mind was barely there; it was entirely consumed by the pain of death.

But she didn’t stop there, the knife was raised and it came down on Blondie with as much force as the first stab. It continues and she can’t even recall how many times now, slicing and dicing and blood flowing out of Blondie’s now completely unconscious; maybe even dead body. Blonde Bombshell’s heart is draining its body dry. She keeps carving and opening up her victim’s body with the heavy, sharpened knife. It’s bloody and messy and raw inside.

“You’re so ugly on the inside” She whispers with the utmost precision hovering over Blondie’s dead, putrid body. She finally drops the knife next to the dirty piece of meat next to her; it clatters to the ground; you know that sound. She runs her fingers along the utterly countless wounds, stopping only to bring her hand to her mouth and taste the warm, red liquid. It tastes of metal, like that which caused it to seep out from the safe haven inside Blondie’s body. She feels empty, and the cold breeze brings her back to reality.
She gets back up on her feet grabbing the knife as she goes along.

She kicks the bloody pulp, just to make sure Blonde Bombshell is completely rid of this world.
“I’m done here, I’ll see you in hell, Bitch!” She says before turning right back around to where she came from.

The moonlight is seeping through the clouds again to light her way back home. She walks at a steady pace, not a worry in her mind. Feeling cleansed and free. Slaying her demons as it were, her boots have that sound about them, the sound only leather boots with metal buckles make.
The sound of vigilance; you know that sound.