The knife’s tip sunk easily into the flesh like butter. Just bringing a trickle of blood, and easy enough to wipe off. Her cries muffled by the handmade muzzle fastened to her face. She was a newspaper reporter, and had stumbled on me through investigation. And, well, I couldn’t let her tattle on me and the pretties. It was an added bonus that she had a very pretty pretty on her belly. I ignored her as I pressed the blade in deeper. I was cutting a bit deeper then I needed, but I didn’t seem to care. It was her fault, and I was still a bit angry with her. That and I wanted the pretty in perfect condition.
May you walk through the raining pools of blood and dance on the guts of your victims.
The words floated to the top of her head. She had been given a job, a good job, a job she knew she could really do. A job she had been dreaming for since she could remember. Remember since when? Lucifer had explained her duties, and she planned on doing her very best. To show not only Lucifer, but his other head-honchos, that he chose well.
Mark stood there, face drawn in shock, his large brown eyes staring straight ahead. The barrel of the gun stared at him like a giant eye. Grey smoke rolled, twisting out of it, moving to the ceiling reminding him of his own cigarette smoke. He felt numb as the smell of gunpowder stung his nostrils. She stared at him, eyes filled with madness. Why had she done this? What had he done to deserve this? Slowly, like a dream, his body became heavy. He leaned against the wall, his legs unable to hold the weight. His hand went to the spreading wetness on his shirt.
A luminous glow radiated around the silent figure. Her white skin untainted by the sun’s harsh touch, as her eyes twinkled like fiery green emeralds. Her straight, calf length auburn hair flowed around her like a red veil. Her naturally crimson lips moved as she sang to herself. The song seemed so right on this dark dreary night.