Erotic BLOODLUST

Prologue

Blood and erotic thoughts. They're things we all, as humans, experience. It's warm, a very, heavy warm feeling - having both of these things as a craving erotic thing and blood, the thoughts that are both experience whilst murdering the innocent victims of this world, it's only known, seen and heard as one thing: Erotic Bloodlust.

It wasn't all rainbows and unicorns in fact - in this world it never was to begin with. When it comes down to it: all you really need to do is open up your eyes and take a good, hard look at reality and you see the truth. It's warm, fuzzy and makes others dizzy in ways that are erotic. Some of us begin to have addictions to minor things such as: stuffed animals, relationships or even just novels, whereas other kinds of things are seen as more than just minor, like: pornography, stalking or even killing. I guess the real question is: Who are we? What are we? What addictions do we choose and how do they affect the way we live? Honestly, that was something I never knew the answer to for years until I met him. He was tall, attractive but he was also about to slash my throat. At first I was going to let him, spreading my arms outwards and waiting for the loud bang of the gun but the trigger wasn't pulled on me. I realised that this serial killers was un-like others: he was asking why I wanted to die, what value did I see in dying? That, and also he was a massive germaphobe and didn't even dare to change the bullets. So I took in a deep breath, stood up and placed my hands onto his gun. "Give it here," I demanded "I'll change the bullets for you." And as asked of him, he handed over the big, silver-tinted gun and I changed the ammo, polished the gun with my college uniform's sleeve and gave the guy my gloves. The look on his face was stunned, mouth hanging open and back slightly arched over. "Now shoot me." I said, once again spreading my arms. "No." That was all he said to me, yet it infuriated me. I launched myself at him, grabbing his wrist and trying, with full strength, to grab the gun out of his hands. Then suddenly, I heard it. The trigger went off and I heard a thud behind me, I turn my head nervously and see, a middle-aged women. The bullet in her forehead and her arm had so much as been stabbed with a sharp, rough stick.

"I—I killed somebody... I KILLED SOMEBODY! HOLY SHIT!!!" I jumped off of the (main) serial killer and ran over to the women. Not even her fingers were moving, not a single twitch or noise came from her, she was just dead. I placed my hands against her neck, she was somehow still warm I was about to see whereabouts the bullet actually was when I felt a gun at the back of my head. I knew it was the guy from before, I sighed and turned to see him - expecting the killer but I was wrong. Ever so wrong, it was a cop. "What'd you think you're doing killing people in a place like this, kid?!" He yelled furiously, I began to shake. My knees were wobbling and I couldn't speak. I tried to open my mouth and explain how it was a big misunderstanding when suddenly another, finals bullet went off, causing the officer to fall, face-forward onto the pavement in the alleyway. "Who did—" My sentence took a screeching holt. I don't get it? The guy, who was about to kill me a mere 5 minutes ago SAVED MY LIFE? "Get up. That ground is disgusting and I don't want to save your sorry ass from any sicknesses." He disgustedly demanded. He then reached out one of his hands to help me up, I was hesitant at first but than I grabbed it and he helped me stand up.

"Why did you save me?" I asked bluntly, yet also very concernedly. "When you headed over to the women, got down on that disgusting floor, touched and looked at the blood dripping down her arm you blushed. It was like you had some sought of erotic thirst for her blood." He explained, popping out a cigarette and placing it into his mouth. Is.. Is that really what I looked like? I mean, my face did feel kind of hot when I touched it, but WHAT? "So what? Are you insisting I become some psychotic, germaphobe serial killer like you are—" "No, I'm not saying that at all." I never finished my sentence, because his gun was pointing now at my forehead, directly against it. "Not all us serial killers are the same. You can be a laid-back, manipulative kind of killer, a psychotic, lewd serial killer or something different. My point is becoming a killer? That's something we can become for free: but what kind? That's your personalities job. So, what'll it be?" I took in everything this guy had said, and looked down at the gun which he had moved in front of my stomach mid-way through his explanation. I looked at the women, officer and then back at this guy - right in his eyes. "Any kind of killer I want?" I say, repeating what this guy had said earlier. "So I can play with my victims feelings? Fuck them like it's natural and then kill them once I've came in their—" I got interrupted. "YES, YES, NOW THAT'S ENOUGH. God, I don't want to hear about you fucking any women." He yelled, aiming the gun at my mouth. "So... What'll it be?" He asked, once he had finished his little temper, homosexual energy tantrum. "Give me a gun."