Fragment VI

Warning: gore ahead.

“These bloodstains will never come out,” I mutter to my ruined reflection in the mirror. 

Splatters of coppery red are splashed down my tasteful white dress, as if someone has thrown a bucket of red paint over my front and down my arms. I could easily get away with the red paint lie, if not for the smell.

I touch one spatter in particular congealing below my collarbone. I touch it, shiver, and remember earlier in the evening…

“You’re here.” His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. He smiled and held the door open for me. What a gentleman. I stepped inside, surveying the large room. Candlelight flickered from the beautifully set table, lights of the surrounding skyscrapers washing the place in a cool glow from beyond the floor to ceiling windows.

Two steaks rested on a cutting board on the marble island in the kitchen a few steps away. I caressed the handle of the knife by the sink, thinking of the one hidden in the pocket of my dress.

“And you dressed up,” he murmured appreciatively, placing his hands on my waist from behind. I allowed myself to melt into him, one last time, letting him pepper kisses down the side of my neck. I breathed in his cologne and wished he wasn’t such a terrible fucking person.

He pulled out a chair for me but I shook my head and picked up the wine bottle. “You go ahead and sit. I’ll pour the wine.” He obeyed and spread his napkin on his lap, just like he’d done his whole life, living like royalty, his family name shielding him from reality.

I poured myself a glass of delicious pinot noir first, keeping my hands steady. He flashed me a smile as I moved toward him and filled his own glass, placing the bottle well out of reach. 

I stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, kneading gently. “Had a rough day today, baby?” I whispered next to his ear. His head fell back, enjoying my ministrations. I kept kneading his aching muscles, waiting for my conscience to scream at me, or at least to whimper. 

“Don’t stop now,” he whined, head still back, eyes closed. “I could get used to –”

Lightning-fast I had the silver dagger in my left hand, holding his dark locks tightly with my right. Before he could say or do anything I slashed the blade across his bared neck, sawing a bit to get right down to the bone.

The feeling was exhilarating; my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. I smiled in relief while he gagged and choked on his own blood.

I put the still bloody dagger back in my front pocket, letting go of his head. 

It was barely still attached.

The bloodbath was glorious. I couldn’t help myself from dipping my finger in the dark black blood pumping down his chest and licking it, tasting him one last time.

Hugging him daintily I happily smeared his blood on myself. I took a look at myself in the ornate mirror close to the door before stepping out, leaving the heavy door ajar.

To the fire exit door at the end of the empty hallway I went, using my least bloody finger to touch the password onto the keypad. At the green light I pushed outward into the night and up the flight of stairs to the roof.

The helicopter was waiting, ready to lift away at my go-ahead. The pilot did a double-take when he saw me but is paid well enough to never ask any questions.

Smiling, I told him, “Happy Halloween, Trev. Think there’s still time for trick-or-treating?”

Fragment VI

There are fates much worse than death.

She knows this now, more than ever. Lying curled up on the warm wet floor, blood and water swirling together like a macabre painting left outside in the rain.

Spending eternity wandering the darkness alone… Being chained to a boulder, eviscerated over and over by razor sharp beaks, with no hope of salvation… Or forced to torture others, skinning them alive, unable to stop your blade from slicing and slicing…

Yes, there are many fates worse than the cold starless void of death.

There would be no light at the end of the tunnel. No dead relatives waiting with kind smiles and outstretched hands.

Not for her. Not after what she’s done.

A sharp, shrill noise, like keening, makes her raise her aching head. At first she thinks it is someone – or something – attempting to break through the beautiful gilt framed windows above the overflowing bathtub.

Her eyes slide away from the windows to the locked door. Blinking, her heartbeat slows, pumping the last of her blood from her body…

The door bursts inward, hinges splintering, and suddenly someone is shouting her name.

“Leave me alone,” she whispers. “Let me go.”

The Things We Do…

 

neighborhood

Prompt: Description of the devil recruiting a new servant.


The devil is drawn to tragedy.

She inhales the despair and savours it on her tongue.

Lucky for her, this world is rife with tragedy.

The flavour of the day is vengeance.

Beneath the bows of a weeping willow tree, she watches the police cars drive slowly away from the scene at the tidy cottage across the lane.

A woman sits on the front step, head bowed. Her long blonde hair falls over her face and her shoulders shudder with sobs.

The paramedics have come and gone. The neighbours, drawn outside of their homes by the earlier commotion, have melted away.

Thick clouds darken the sky. The devil makes use of the shadows and is mere steps away from the blonde woman before she is noticed.

“Go away,” the woman pleads weakly. “I have no time for you.”

The devil grins. “Yes you do, Rachel. You now have all the time in the world.”

Rachel slowly gets to her feet. She roughly wipes her tears away with trembling hands. She does her best to appear strong and unafraid. Her bloodshot eyes meet the devil’s piercing gaze.

“The deal is complete. What a fine job, too. Truly well done, Rachel. So much blood!”

The devil proffers a delicate, beckoning hand. “Come,” she coaxes. “There is much to do.”