criminals don't snitch { zoë/cyra }

I'm a murderer. 

In the most traditional sense of the word, I could be considered a murderer. This stained hands have taken life, destroyed it, and left it to rot beneath the earth. I am nothing less than evil, if you choose to look at me from that perspective. Because in most people’s point of views, taking a life can not be justifiable. Crimson stains equal a black heart for most people. They are so caught up in the idea of killing that they fail to evaluate history.

I have never killed an innocent.

The lives that collapse beneath my blade are monsters with human skin. I kill the swine, doing to butchering that the rest of the world is unwilling to do. Some may argue that being an avox is punishment enough, but I disagree. To let a monster live after robbing someone of life or innocence, that is unjust. It causes my stomach to churn like butter, and causes anger to boil within. I’ve never been one to accept injustice. My mother used to say that as I child I could whine for hours until I’d gotten my way. Of course, now I have a much more useful tool than my voice.

The blade sinks into his chest, pushing past ribs and muscle, finding his beating life and stifling it with a cool metal tip. It must be painful, his eye widen with shock and agony. Yes, it’s very painful, but nothing compared to the torment he caused. Three dead girls can account for his guilt, carefully hidden within the woods. His name escapes me, it’s unimportant for my purposes, I’m purely focused on this eyes. Wisps of life fade out of his coral lips. I kiss him deeply, desire for his life burning within. But nothing comes of it, and when I pull away I’m still empty.

No empathy. No emotion. Just the void within.

As I walk upon the cobblestone path, I feel a hot stain burned onto my cloths, with a sharp curse under my breath, I recognize the vermillion that has seeped into my shirt. Liquid life, as my father calls it. I study the dark roads ahead, and upon seeing no one, I continue with more caution than before. The last thing I need is to be spotted on a night like this. The idea of being captured, labeled something I am not, and being sent off to be an avox does have a deep affect on me. Because my pace quickens, head hung as if I had done something wrong, and I begin to hope for good luck.

Of course, nothing good has ever happened to me.

The shacks that surround me give way to another girl, around my age, also walking quickly. We’re on in the same, I suppose, with secrets and desire unknown to our peers. I try to fold my arms over my chest, hiding some of the evidence, but it’s a feeble attempt at best. She must notice it as well, as she notices me, giving me a glance over before hanging her head low and continuing without daring to look up. She’s afraid… shit.

I’m tempted to continue, hope that she has not recognized me, and will not report me to the peacekeepers. But I’ve never been one to give things up to chance. I prefer to keep my fate in my own hands. So instead of fleeing, I approach her. Head held high as I cause our paths to intertwine. Light floods the street from lamps hung above, but it still feels as dark as midnight in the winter. I know people, years of betrayal and secrets have molded me into a beast distrustful of everyone. And I know when people have secrets.

Girls who wander the streets at times like this are not the prissy little shits they pretend to be when the sun has climbed into the sky.

And I’m going to find out this girls secret.

”Hey, you! What are you doing out at a time like this?”


Words: 665

Lying has always come easy to me.

Even as I child, I could convince my father that it was the maid who stole the silverware. It wasn’t too difficult, pull a few heartstrings, whimper at the right moments, and boom, its over. It’s not too difficult, really, just abusing human nature in order to get your way. My father would be so enraged if he ever found out, so learned how to ensure he didn’t. Lying is a formula, carefully laid out in front of you, all you must do is fill in the blanks.

However, I’ve never been good at spotting it in others. Stories can always be manipulated, the formula bent slightly and made indistinguishable from the truth.

The girl opens her mouth, her story flying off her lips, "I don't see how it's your business, but if you must know, I was at a bar." and I am helpless as to whether or not it’s true. I could press on, demanding details and hope for a slip up or accept the defeat and move on. It’s a conundrum to say the least. Do I dare press on, in hopes that she be the first fuck up, or move on and pray she doesn’t discover anything to startling around these corners.

As I ponder the possibilities, she makes it clear which I must do.

”Although, I could ask you the same thing,"

shit

Of course she’s suspicious, a girl like me wandering these streets looking like this? Dear Ripred, what was I thinking approaching her? But as quickly as it takes for me to realize I’ve made a potentially disastrous mistake, it takes me just as long to formulate a rather weak story.

"People wonder what a girl with blood stains is doing this time of night, you know."

At this time of night, no one normal is walking the streets, we are both well aware of this fact. She looks frightened. It’s hidden between a hard stare but I can see the anxiety working it’s way within her. (She should be) I can only hope that I won’t have to lash out, because I really don’t want to hurt anybody. It was foolish of me in the first place to think that I could continue this way with no consequences, but that doesn’t mean I’m going down easily.

Despite my worry, I keep a stone face (The one thing I can always do)

“I was having… feminine problems. My boyfriend wouldn’t have me getting stains on his precious couch, so I ended up out here.”

It’s weak, easily proven wrong, but I’m determined not to let her walk away with suspicion still burning within her. This would all be so much easier if she would crack and tell me what it is she is really doing out at such a late hour. If I could gain her secrets, than she wouldn’t care about mine.

”That’s not important. If you’ve been drinking, than it would probably be a good idea for me to walk you home, don’t you think?”

I can tell there isn’t a drop of alcohol in her, and I figure that’s my best chance of cracking her story wide open.

”There are some bad people out here, us girls have to stick together.” I smile, trying to avoid appearing sinister, but friendly and welcoming.

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