Status: "Oh please god, no! Please. No!"
Wanted
Wanted
"Oh please god, no! Please. No!" she screamed breathlessly into the cold air, leaving a trail of smoke in the night with her hot breath. The knife shot straight into her chest, staining her snowy white shirt with blood as she watched it drip down her body. Her cries were cut short as he ripped the knife out, leaving a jagged tear in the middle of her chest. The wind blew hard; rustling leaves in the alleyway where she stood. Her blood pooled around her feet on the dirty sidewalk. Her heart raced quickly, and then finally stopped, as she gasped out her last breath. She fell motionless on to the filthy pavement.
She had been the perfect student. She didn't ask for anything, worked hard to help others. She never did anything wrong and never complained. Her name was Misty Anderson. Misty was exactly seventeen and a half the day she died.
For the past week she had been getting calls from someone on the other line, breathing heavily in to the speaker and then hanging up. Then one evening she received a very disturbing phone call. The anonymous person on the other end of the phone spoke in an eerie, cold voice telling her, “Your time is up! Just like you mother’s and your father’s, and soon enough, your little brother’s too”.
Misty had decided to take a shortcut through the dark graveyard that just happened to keep filling up with headstones. She was afraid because she knew everyone in her small town well considering the town she lived in only consisted of three hundred people, she thought the gravestones were a bit strange. As she walked quickly though the graveyard, every step she took sent a nasty feeling of ice running down her spine, making her shiver.
Misty came to the last corner and rounded it only to find her anonymous caller standing in the alleyway. His shoulders rolled, a hunch formed in his back, his hands trembled and they were holding a large, jagged, silver, blood stained knife. He wore black jeans and a stained gray top with a pocket on the left side of his upper chest. Where his heart would have been was replaced with a deep, dark black hole. His eyes were cold and all hope had left them. He was the one that ended Misty’s life because he was just that kind of person. He didn't care.
He walked away, casually, as if nothing had happened. His dark and dirty face stared straight ahead, not a hint of guilt or fear of being caught. His eyes showed no emotion under the dull street lamp. Cars drove by, clueless that a killer was walking so close to them. He was an expert by now. He knew how to play the game. Knew how to play it a little too well. He was known to everyone in the area. There were "wanted" posters all over, but no one had ever found him. Yet everyone knew him.
She had been the perfect student. She didn't ask for anything, worked hard to help others. She never did anything wrong and never complained. Her name was Misty Anderson. Misty was exactly seventeen and a half the day she died.
For the past week she had been getting calls from someone on the other line, breathing heavily in to the speaker and then hanging up. Then one evening she received a very disturbing phone call. The anonymous person on the other end of the phone spoke in an eerie, cold voice telling her, “Your time is up! Just like you mother’s and your father’s, and soon enough, your little brother’s too”.
Misty had decided to take a shortcut through the dark graveyard that just happened to keep filling up with headstones. She was afraid because she knew everyone in her small town well considering the town she lived in only consisted of three hundred people, she thought the gravestones were a bit strange. As she walked quickly though the graveyard, every step she took sent a nasty feeling of ice running down her spine, making her shiver.
Misty came to the last corner and rounded it only to find her anonymous caller standing in the alleyway. His shoulders rolled, a hunch formed in his back, his hands trembled and they were holding a large, jagged, silver, blood stained knife. He wore black jeans and a stained gray top with a pocket on the left side of his upper chest. Where his heart would have been was replaced with a deep, dark black hole. His eyes were cold and all hope had left them. He was the one that ended Misty’s life because he was just that kind of person. He didn't care.
He walked away, casually, as if nothing had happened. His dark and dirty face stared straight ahead, not a hint of guilt or fear of being caught. His eyes showed no emotion under the dull street lamp. Cars drove by, clueless that a killer was walking so close to them. He was an expert by now. He knew how to play the game. Knew how to play it a little too well. He was known to everyone in the area. There were "wanted" posters all over, but no one had ever found him. Yet everyone knew him.
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