This was a story written by my little brother, and cousin when they were 14. Pretty damn good. Did some spell checking on it before posting.
I heard a strange sound that chilled me to the bone. That blood curdling scream echoing down the hall. The fibers in her throat straining to their limits as the sleek blade pierced her chest, sinking deeper.
This feeling. The rush of adrenaline, the feel of absolute power - it's truly intoxicating. A grin crept up across my cheek. I pushed harder, she screamed louder.
The serrated edge of my knife grided away at this woman's ribs. Rich red blood drooled down the hilt and covered my hand. Frantically, she fought back with desolate blows. She knew she was going to die.
I removed the knife, feeling satisfied with the amount of blood pouring out of her wound, only to strike again. And again and again. Twice to her stomach, twice to her heart and one destructive gash to the back of her neck.
I had struck the nerves in her spine, she went limp and collapsed backwards onto the windowsill behind her, keeping her upright.
Both her and I were covered in blood.
A bloodstained hand reached down to my belt and rested on the machete. I paused, taking in the gory scene, I sighed in ecstasy as I licked the blood from the knife.
Within a split second, I grabbed the machete and hacked a two-inch-deep gash in the side of her head.
She wasn't dead, yet.
I could see nothing but pain in her eyes. She had no control over her body, a knife stuck into her neck and a machete deep in her brain. She wanted nothing more than for this to end. I owed her that.
That same bloodstained hand reached down and took the 9mill pistol off my hip and pressed it firmly to her skull. Her eyes, though stricken with pain, whispered a thank-you. I blinked emotionlessly in return and squeezed the trigger.
Blood, the fluid of passion, gushed abruptly out the window.
It was over.
She is gone.
I fell to my knees, suddenly realising what I had done. My heart stopped beating, just as it had before I met her.
Her name, Laura, it always sounded so sweet whenever I heard it.
A tear rolled down my cheek.
I glanced around the room, blood, just blood. That's all I could see. She had decorated this room, it was to be for our child, and now I had destroyed it. She wasn't even pregnant. I couldn't remember why I had killed her, I tried to though, as I dragged her limp, lifeless body down towards the basement.
The stairway wall had been decorated with photos of us, on the beach, at the fairs, in town every memory I shared with her, taunting me on my shameful walk to hide my sin.
The basement had no lights, only faint streams of light descending upon the dusty floor from the cracks in the floor boards. The room always scared me, even considering my past. Maybe I knew I was going to leave her here, before I had thought of killing her.
I sat he up in the far corner. Gazed into her deep, blue eyes. And burst into tears.
There I sat. Dark but distinguished. In this dark, desolate hole. The basement was my only place of refuge and escape, from the thing that I had become. The light came weakly through from the gaps in the floorboards above, flickering and teasing me that there was hope for a new, different life.
I hadn't planed to do it this time. My one true love. Our passion had been a fire, the love of his life. I let out a deafeningly silent scream. A scream of the disgust and anger I had at myself. I felt a trickle of cold, dark blood running down my cheek. A cut, the only punishment for the crimes I had committed. It slowly ran onto my lips and, licking them, I shuddered. Blood, the fuel of life, my drug. It was the sole cause for my loss of control. My need for it was all consuming and not even the strongest of all emotions, love, could control it.
The sound of the rhythmic, torturing dripping of water falling from the ceiling had become too much. I had to get away from it, slowly standing up; I made his way to the door. Then in the corner of my eye, I saw it. The corpse of the one that had fixed and now through my own stupidity destroyed my life. I walked over to her lifeless, motionless body. Looking into those longing, betrayed eyes I couldn't help laughing, it was a cold inhumane laugh that would scare the bravest of men. Laura, his one true love.
Walking through this house to the back door, I shivered. The strong, grilling, summer sunlight is not enough to warm my heart, let alone start it beating again, for it was now forever frozen and dark. Despair passed across me, for from that moment on I knew I would be but a shell of a human.
Far away I heard the screeching of sirens, splitting the happy cries of children and silencing the roar of traffic. Grabbing my knife, I licked it clean of the liquid it had become accustomed to be in contact with. I put it concealed into my belt and then I, the serial killer, fled.
In a crowd I would look like any other ordinary man, but if you got close and saw those sad, regretful eyes, you would know I was different. People who met me often said I was odd and found me difficult to talk to. It wasn't that I was anti-social but when I went out not many talked to me. I was rejected often at bars and clubs. Soon I gave up asking and as time passed I went out less and less, losing the hope I would meet anybody or have any friends.
My life was a wreck and a misery. I had become confined to my house, never leaving unless for food and supplies. Slowly the house become dirty and derelict, with the weeds in the garden high up to the windows, covering the paths and killing any flowers that struggled to live. Parents urged their children to stay away from me. Strangely anybody that came to talk to me about the state of the house never came out again and soon a weak odour filled the air inside the house. Laura's corpse had joined theirs.
When I had met Laura my world opened up to a whole new range of possibilities. I started to go out again, I met new people but most importantly he started to love life again. I was starting to be normal. Laura and I had newly painted the house, cleaning the inside and out. The garden became tidy and bright, glowing flowers grew quickly replacing the colourless weeds. Old friends commented about the change in me and began inviting Laura and I to dinner. It was all because of her ? the candle in my world of darkness, growing brighter and giving me strength. But I had snuffed out that candle, plunging my life into darkness again.
As I walked out the back door I noticed that all of the flowers, which were alive and happy earlier that morning, were dead and dry. Even though it made no logical sense I knew why.
I strolled slowly away from the house, towards the park. Laura always loved the park, so full of happiness whenever we went for a walk together.
I walked down passed a bed of flowers, Tulips and Roses, Laura's favorites. I crouched and picked a Tulip from the group and nestled it in my palms. It's violet colour quickly faded into a deathly grey and shrivelled up to nothing more than an empty shell, just like me.
A shadow swept past be, I recognised the slight chill. I looked up to see a man wearing blue standing over me with his hands on his hips and a sad "not another one." look on his face. I just turned away from him and continued to sob at the dead flower nestled in my palms.
"Sir..." The mans voice spoke.
"... I need you to stand up please." it ordered.
I never really cared too much for this man, he only lasted those few seconds in my memories. Then he was gone - like all the rest.
"I love you, I don't want to leave you." I spun, hoping to catch a glimpse of the speaker.
There was no one there.
I recognised the voice, it was Laura's. No, I must be dreaming, this cant be happening! I dreaded this moment. I knew it would come, it always does and always will.
I became attached to her, I loved her, I wanted to have children with her, I killed her...
This is where it all ends.
Three days later, I was found in her bloody arms with a bullet through my head and a letter in her hands:
Don't cry for me now I'm gone, I knew what I had done and every second I deserved; I killed him. I took his breath away and he mine. Together in each others dieing arms is where we belong.