Every thing and Nothing

33; Hunting The One

Fists beat into her body, breaking her back. Stabbing sensations were sent up her legs and every breath taken hurts her body. She was the one.

She looked just like her, with her shoulder length hair, small lips, bigger nose, almond shaped brown eyes and creamy coffee skin.
Bloody hand prints were a stark contrast on her naked body. She wasn't yelling, she lay there, tears falling down her face, her eyes broken, so broken. Blood, excrement and vomit painted the floor around her body. Chains sat almost peacefully in the corner of the room. A grin spread itself across my face, the bones in my neck click as I pushed my back back. Weights held her legs down, you should have heard her sing, the song of sorrow, so beautiful, so serene. Her eyes trained onto my shelf, my treasures lay there. All the heads, the alluring heads, 5...10..20 and more. They sat in neat, perfect lines. All measured up to the centimetre. The knife in my hand had made its path towards the eye. With a jab of precision, the knife was embedded under the eye. Her voice of terror and pain mixed with the blood squirting up the wound. The blood ran like tears into her open shrieking mouth. With a push on the hilt the eye was lifted out of its socket and into the waiting jar. One down. The other eye was quickly stolen from her body, which was flitting in and out of consciousness, flirting with death. The pictures were snapped, one, two, three, every angle, every shot.

A gleeful laugh tore from my lips. She was back. The one.

"Sleep precious" and so she did, she slept, never to wake again, never to see the daylight, never to live once more.