Sequel: Death's a Joke. ›
Who Says That ***'s Not an Art?
I’m Not a Freak.
She advanced down the streets with her grip tightly fixed on the handle of a pocket knife that she kept hidden under her trench coat. As her shadow danced past the brick walls the odd street lamp shone onto her deadly pale skin. As the wind picked up and howled into her ears she wrapped the coat tighter while keeping the same pace. Her head bowed so she couldn’t see the night’s sky.
“Spare change?” was grunted in a hoarse voice. She quickly turned to see where the voice came from, causing the leather coat to shake around her calves.
On the floor sat a middle-aged man who had wrapped himself in the frayed remains of a tartan blanket. Dirt covered most of his face whereas his hair fell in greasy locks of grey. He barked and held onto his chest that let out a wheeze. She bent down to his height before looking straight into his eyes making her face illuminate.
The man let of a gasp before inquiring “What kind of freak are you?” She just let out a low chuckle in response. “Well?” The man snarled out of pure fear.
She began hysterically laughing before she grabbed him by the hair then pressed the tip of the knife into his neck. “I’m not a freak.” She snarled leaving a little cut and lowering the knife.
She grabbed his face before moving it side to side; as if evaluating the man. “Hmm, how will we get Batboy’s attention?” She asked, her voice raised as if talking to a small child.
She got up and carried on walking; leaving her latest victim propped up against a streetlamp. Something big would need to grab his attention but killing a few homeless wouldn’t help.
Not long after her street killings which ended a few more lives she began climbing the fire escape stairs before reaching the door. Grabbing the sides of the railings she lifted her body and pushed her feet into the door. Not long after the door’s rusty hinges groaned and swung open. As soon as she was in she began following the building’s corridors until she found the right room.
“Hello boys, fancy seeing you here,” She sneered, causing glares to be sent in her direction.
A few of the men pulled out guns from their suit pockets and aimed at the female. “Ah ah uh no need to get violent now is there?” She asked, pulling up one of the abandoned chairs and putting her feet onto the main table where the last few members of the mob.
“Now, I need your-” She stopped as if in deep thought. After a little while she began to talk again, “…assistance.”
“Spare change?” was grunted in a hoarse voice. She quickly turned to see where the voice came from, causing the leather coat to shake around her calves.
On the floor sat a middle-aged man who had wrapped himself in the frayed remains of a tartan blanket. Dirt covered most of his face whereas his hair fell in greasy locks of grey. He barked and held onto his chest that let out a wheeze. She bent down to his height before looking straight into his eyes making her face illuminate.
The man let of a gasp before inquiring “What kind of freak are you?” She just let out a low chuckle in response. “Well?” The man snarled out of pure fear.
She began hysterically laughing before she grabbed him by the hair then pressed the tip of the knife into his neck. “I’m not a freak.” She snarled leaving a little cut and lowering the knife.
She grabbed his face before moving it side to side; as if evaluating the man. “Hmm, how will we get Batboy’s attention?” She asked, her voice raised as if talking to a small child.
She got up and carried on walking; leaving her latest victim propped up against a streetlamp. Something big would need to grab his attention but killing a few homeless wouldn’t help.
Not long after her street killings which ended a few more lives she began climbing the fire escape stairs before reaching the door. Grabbing the sides of the railings she lifted her body and pushed her feet into the door. Not long after the door’s rusty hinges groaned and swung open. As soon as she was in she began following the building’s corridors until she found the right room.
“Hello boys, fancy seeing you here,” She sneered, causing glares to be sent in her direction.
A few of the men pulled out guns from their suit pockets and aimed at the female. “Ah ah uh no need to get violent now is there?” She asked, pulling up one of the abandoned chairs and putting her feet onto the main table where the last few members of the mob.
“Now, I need your-” She stopped as if in deep thought. After a little while she began to talk again, “…assistance.”
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Please comment; I need to know if people think I should carry on writing this story. :)