Years ago, I would have sat down peacefully and wrote something. Anything. My writings bore me but they cleanse my soul.
I'm gonna sharpen that pencil, slowly, thoroughly. Then I'm gonna stab your eye with it, repeatedly. Over and over and over. Squish squish. Blood squirts all over, cheesy stuff drips all over your face, staining my pencil. You scream like you've never screamed before. In pure agony. Your annoying shrill voice drowns out my laughter. Squirt squirt, your eye socket fills with mush. I wanna tell you a funny joke about vitreous humour, but you're too busy crying tears and blood to get it, I'm sure.
So I sharpen my bloody pencil again while I stare at your pitiful face.
You're still screaming like a crazy banshee. Edvard Munch' The Scream comes to mind. At least you look artsy. I chuckle as I continue sharpening my pencil. You continue to scream. I stab your tongue once. Blood mixes with your thick saliva, almost choking you. There. That'll shut you up. Only pitiful gurgling can be heard now. Choked sobs and tearful begging. Music to my ears.
I feel connected to you now, soul to soul. Your silent screams & curses fuel me. I softly caress my pencil again. Hmmmmm. It needs more sharpening. I smile my most evil smile as I slowly insert the tip inside the sharpener, I stare at you, deliciously registering the way your eyes - err, eye - widen with fright.
The scraping of the wood against the sharpener's blade magnifies the tension. I love it!
You know what's gonna happen next.
You close your eyes, or what's left of it, as if resigned to your fate. Frothy spit dribbling from your mouth as you try to control your sobs, trying to die with little dignity you can muster up. I feel so tempted to plunge my pencil someplace else. But, I'm not at all evil, you know. I touch your cheek softly, like a guy would touch his virginal girlfriend right before kissing her. God, you're a messy work of art! My work of art. I smile as I try to memorize every bit of the bloody mess I made out of you. Your whimpers are pathetic. I know you're begging me to end it. Oh well. So be it.
I whistle a random tune as I plunge my No.2 pencil in your neck. The blood from your artery splashed against my shirt, some on my face. I close my eyes in ecstacy.
I pull the pencil from your neck, blood still spurting weakly. I sit down, grabbed the piece of paper, and with your blood as ink, I write down the story of my first kill.
|*photo not mine|
*If you write a story using this writing prompt, you can share your link below, I would love to read it! :)
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