Blood

It wasn’t meant to be this way – your empty eyes staring up at me from the pool of blood, reflecting the movement of the crimson fluid dripping slowly from my hands to land with a noiseless ripple in the spreading stain.
It’s a pity, really, that you didn’t believe me – such a pretty face, now lying broken on the floor where you managed to crawl before your heart finally gave out.
It was a pretty laugh, too, that sounded through the bar I met you in hours ago – that moment now printed indelibly in my mind alongside all the other moments that led to a scene like this.

"So," you smiled, leaning forwards to draw attention to the low cut of your dress,"what do you do for fun, anyway?"

I never lie, not even to joke, so here I looked you in the eye, and casually told you the truth.

"I kill people."

And this was the time when you signed your own death warrant; laughing off my confession of sorts as a joke, you asked me what I really did.
So I had to show you.
You followed me so trustingly, only gripping my hand tighter as I led you to this dark room in an abandoned apartment block – never guessing that the only danger for you here was the one person you thought you could trust.

You took so long to realise why I brought you here; even when I shut and locked the door, you merely crept closer, not seeing the knife until it was too late.
By the time you finally screamed – and you did scream, piercingly loud - it was from not only fear but also the pain as the cold metal met flesh.
You believed me then, of course – but it was too late.
Once the sound of your terror started to echo through these abandoned hallways, you had no chance – the bloodlust took over, and I once again found myself taking a brutal delight in creating this bloody artwork.

Now here I am, yet again alone and bathed in another’s blood – but do I regret this?
No. I don’t regret anything – according to the same psychiatrist who tried to have me locked away, psychopaths don’t feel at all, no matter what they do.
Needless to say, when I killed him, I didn’t feel anything but satisfaction at having escaped a hospitalised fate.

He was the first.
And you are the latest.
The only similarity between the both of you is the blood.

Over the years, I have found that the one thing that all people have in common – besides bad habits, dangerous secrets and evil feelings – is the blood.
Underneath the skin, we are all the same, and I have the strength – the ability and the complete lack of conscience – to reveal it, and to revel in it.

There are people like you; the unsuspecting prey – and then there are those like me; the heartless predator.
Nature rules that I always win, and the result is always the same – the blood on my hands, from the blood in yours.