Genocide - The Best Kind

I walk out of my shadow and towards the blonde, always staring at her, daring her to remove her eyes from mine. Reaching her, I stop and look up to my right, smiling slightly at the sight. The human is still crying out in pain, clawing at the meat hooks dug into each of its shoulders. I'm surprised the mangled corpse in the corner and the various pools of blood on the floor haven't panicked it further.

"What does this one do?" I whisper, still mesmerised by the blood coursing its way down the floating body's torso. I have to restrain myself from running my hand along the slowly forming lines.

"Head at the office of the Prime Minister, second only to Brown himself." She replies, joining my gaze up at the helpless office worker.

"Tools of the trade?" I murmur.

"A mobile phone, pens, and the press." She instills in a monotone.

I grin as ideas start flashing in my mind. Not easily as violent as the other humans' deaths, but I start to sort out a suitable punishment.

"Strip her." I command.

As soon as the words escape my mouth, as if she anticipated it, the blonde strides up to the co-worker once again and throws her into the opposite wall. Another scream as more blood is released from the wounds, the muscle tearing further and further, the faint sound of metal scraping bone filling my ears.

A flash of a pocket knife and the co-worker's clothes lay tattered on the floor, slowly drowning in the thick, crimson red liquid dripping from its feet.

I pace over to the body and try not to cringe as the layers of over-indulgence wave in front of me. Its head starts to droop as its neck begins to ache from the position it's being held in. Humans aren't meant to hang from their shoulders; it just makes it more entertaining to watch.

I pick up the cloth from beneath its feet and start to search through the pockets. I soon find what I'm looking for.

I pull out an array of pens, each one with a different head. I suddenly hit the jackpot as an inside pocket reveals half a dozen ink pens and I shove them onto the loops on my belt. Delving deeper into the torn jacket, I find the mobile phone the blonde was talking about and pull it out. Flipping through some of the functions on it, I find its ringtone: a polyphonic tone to the tune of The Fast Food Song. I look up dryly at the creature's face and try to understand what would drive someone to use that as their ringtone. Especially a grown adult.

I set it on repeat and lay it on the ground, the happy tune floating out the speakers gracefully as a more gruesome scene takes place.

McDonalds, McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza hut...

I quickly grin at the blonde standing next to me and pull out the series of pens. Uncapping each one I look darkly into the eyes of the thing above me. Your life will become your death.

A Pizza Hut, A Pizza Hut...

My arm flings back and soars into the creature's right thigh, digging the tip of the sharp pen into the flesh. A flash of my left hand as it pulls back and repeats the motion into its left thigh. Screams of agony penetrate the cold freezer air, evaporating into a cloud of mist, and it just pounds a fire into my heart.

McDonalds, McDonalds...

I shift two pens into each hand and shove them into the co-worker's forearms, not letting go this time but pushing harder onto the ends, twisting the blue cylinders, parting the tendons for my sick pleasure. More agonised screams. More endorphins flowing through my system.

...Chicken and a Pizza hut...

Reaching down to the belt I feel there's only one pen left. I finger the slick plastic tube as I narrow down the list of places I can stick it. This is the one it'll end with. To the sound of its happiest tune, and with its greatest tool, this human will fall to its untimely death. And with that, and a spark in my eyes, I drive the pen at where the creature's heart would reside. My eyes widen with joy as its open with pain and terror, the muscle beating frantically at the object now lodged in its valves.

McDonalds, McDonalds...

I smile happily to myself. A job well done. Not a very thorough or very violent death, but one that'll help me sleep.

In its last few minutes of death, I watch as the creature's body turns momentarily into a piece of art. Every limb hanging loosely from the chains, the blood from each wound flows unceremoniously towards the floor, only to mix with the black ink escaping from the pens. Red and black swirl together to form a bloody mass of darkness; a darkness that seeps down into every pore of the white flesh, passing through until it finally reaches the bottom, where it builds into a pool of watery turmoil.

Kentucky Fried Chicken, and a Pizza Hut.

I stamp on the phone and it immediately silences.

Only in death can these beings bring any slight elegance. But they manage to screw even that up; lingering around, rotting, smelling, polluting the beautiful earth surrounding them. Some even try to bury themselves within the earth, believing they are now "at one with nature", the very force they strive to defeat. I just laugh at them. Standing beside the families of mourners I laugh in their faces. They think the pain they feel now is bad. Wait till they see what I've got planned.