hungoverheadcrack. elaina&thekiller.

This is the part where I don't die.

Stories where the red-painted 'villains' win are dusty and outdated. Who wants to read a tale where the ending can be predicted down to the last detail? Where is the suspense, the element of surprise, the shock factor? I may not be writing a story, but everyone will damn well tell mine when I'm done here, and my tale does not end with a potted plant jammed into my skull.

I know when my ambition is too strong. The two fools run away, and I dare not pursue them where they can see me. When I am out of my element, I must be careful where I step. Losing is the worst feeling, and if I die right now, then I have lost. I am tired of fucking losing.

I slink into the house and hug the shadows as if they belong to me. It is quiet for awhile. I find myself enjoying the solitude. It is a chance to breathe and regain my composure before I run into the next drunken fool. Soon they will all be alerted of my presence, and that means one of two things: running or fighting. I expect the former, but the latter is something I need immense preparation for. Who knows what stupid shit they will try to throw at me next. I know it doesn't stop at a potted plant full of vomit. They are human. Selfish, ridiculous humans, but humans nonetheless. We all have that ambition in common - the ambition to stay alive, even if it means taking the most desperate measures.

I squeeze the knife in my hand. There should be more at my disposal, but I couldn't help but choose the weapon that will gain me access to their soul. I see it in their eyes every time I strike. What's the use in killing them from far away? I won't see the regret in their final moments. That defeats the purpose of everything.

In the end, I'm doing this for myself. I shouldn't pretend that I'm not.

So when Elaina stumbles in, screaming bloody murder at my tacky outfit, I smile. Because I know what happens next.

She is too drunk and stupid to know how to use a firepoker as a weapon. It whiffs past me and I back away. She looks pathetic and scared, but I will not be caught off guard. I could admire her bravery if I didn't despise her. She even has a knife. Someone here is more prepared than I am.

I whip the blade of my knife across her throat. In the dark, the streak of red blossoming around her necks looks black.

"You look pathetic."

I never planned out how I wanted to kill Elaina, but there was one detail I couldn't help but fawn over. As she struggles, I pull out a polaroid camera.

"Do you want to see how pathetic you look?"

A flash in the dark, and I have a precious photo of her dying form. I pull it out gently and hold it in front of her face. I point to her expression. "That's you. That's what you're going to look like when you die. Isn't that sad?"

I feel no sadness for her.