Genocide - The Best Kind

I raise my leather clad foot and push it into the white stomach in front of me, watching in delight as the hook creaks under the pressure and flings the body into the adjacent wall. Just the sound of flesh parting with more flesh, blood being squashed into the gaps, that magnificent squelching sound; followed by a resounding thud. My heartbeat quickens.

The saw in my hands is a two-person saw, taken from the truck this piece of meat pulled up in. The truck that screamed tree surgeon on its white walls. My stomach churns at the thought. This man believes he is helping trees. Hacking off their limbs to make way for other foul creatures' homes, keeping what wood he can sell, making a living out of another species' inability to defend itself.

How can these humans be so naiive?

I look down at the dull metal I hold in my hands. Being a two-person saw, it's not nearly as powerful as a hack saw when used by one person. I sigh.

Looks like I'm going to have to improvise.

The creature flails its arms around in an attempt to ward me off, begging, crying, screaming for its life. How pathetic. I drop the saw to one hand, the other reaching behind me to return with four throwing knives. A quick glance to my right as my frustration kicks in. I didn't want to have to do this.

My arm curves backwards as my breathing slows. Panic strikes the creature's eyes as it catches up with what I'm about to do. It shows its palms to me, moving them about in an attempt to protect its dying body. Idiot.

My wrist flicks forward, arm flying in a perfect arc, all four knives expelling from my grip. I watch as each one parts itself from the others, every one angling themselves for the perfect attack. Four metallic screeches as they slice the air; the tools pierce the skin and dive into the muscle. One in each forearm, one in each wrist, the force drives the thing's arms into the wall where they stay. I grin as a sense of pride fills my chest. Perfectly pinned.

A bounce of my wrist and the saw flies back into both hands. I move menacingly towards the creature. Standing before it, inches away from its crimson painted skin. I take in a deep breath. Fear, death, pain. I can smell it all.

My eyes flash open. My forearms tense. I pick up momentum and drive the metal object into its thighs. A red line starts to form on the outer layer. Thick. Messy. Not deep enough. I pull back and send it flying once again. Squelch. Thud. Squelch. Thud. I pick up the pace. Eyes widening. It's still not deep enough.

An agonised scream penetrates the cold air once again, a moist mist forming above my head. The scream brings me out of my trance causing me to stand back slightly to examine my work. I trace the bloody gash with my fingers once again, calculating. I shake my head realising this is hopeless. I can't find out like this.

My fingers stiffen, clumping together, turning into one blade. I grin. My arm shoots forward, hand aiming for the cut. I moan as it penetrates the surface and enters a realm of wet meat. Blood streams out, flowing onto my skin, fitting it in a warm coat of crimson red. What I wouldn't give for the moment to last forever. I expand my finger span, feeling around the tendons and veins, chunks of meat parting for my amusement. I decide it's deep enough.

Yanking my hand back out of the leg, the sound of liquid sliding past skin, I move the saw between my hands. I slowly allow the metal to enter the wound, grin growing wider as I do so.

The saw stops moving and I grunt. I was having fun with that.

I let go of the blade and make my way to one of the handles. That sense of pride swells up again as I notice it stays where it is without me holding it. Perfect.

I close my eyes and savour the moment. Gripping the handle tight I start to drag it towards me, the sharp ridges of the blade slowly tearing the creature's flesh apart. I keep on pulling and relish in the torment I'm creating. The handle my end comes to a stop as the other piece of wood hits the body. I giggle and quickly release the saw, running over to the other side. I have to dig my fingers into the cut to get a good hold.

Positioning my feet under the floating body, I lean back, readying myself.

One, two, three...

I run backwards, giggling with glee as the saw shakes with a low pitch whirr. Every pull creates more pain. I know 'cause I can hear it. I can smell it. I can see it on the creature's face.

Even though I'm enjoying every moment of it, I know this isn't enough. The torture isn't half what it deserves, and one minor death won't account for the thousands of years of destruction. But this is just me getting started. One painful, blood filled death is just the beginning. Look out world. Your motherfucking savior is here to stay.