In our Midst
Posted: Fri Dec 25, 2020 5:00 pm
Thrill
“W..Why are you like this?!”
The room crackled with tension as those words hung in the air. Their faces twisted with a chaotic blend of anger, shock, and sheer dread. It was as if they'd all been thrust into a dark, chilling nightmare, and none of them knew how to awaken. The very essence of 'this' begged understanding. The need for a response surged within her, but the conventional answer seemed inadequate. So, what was she to say in this charged moment? The unvarnished truth? No, what she craved was something far more electrifying, a surge of exhilaration to punctuate the scene. She was bored, and the perfect opportunity had materialized.
“A..A..Augustus, look a-at how sh-she stares!”
Her gaze was unwavering, of a mesmerizing, predatory intensity. It held the promise of hostility, a hint of aggression, yet she refused to flinch. Instead, her relentless eye contact conveyed confidence, a sense of dominance, even a hint of predation. It had the uncanny ability to unsettle, much like the dizzying sensation of infatuation.
Until that fateful day, she had never taken a life, though the desire had been a lurking shadow in her life. Mary-Anne, her mother's meek handmaiden, had never posed a threat. However, when she discovered Mary-Anne rummaging through her drawer, unearthing her secret "collection," something within her snapped. It was an intoxicating surge, a flood of thrilling possibilities coursing through her. The thought of her hands wrapped around Mary-Anne's throat, relentlessly squeezing until life slipped away, sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Or perhaps it was the concealed knife in her boot, the slow, agonizing cut across Mary-Anne's throat, watching life drain out. Yet, it was a specific image that ignited her, her favorite belt winding around Mary-Anne's neck, offering momentary respite before tightening again. It was that vision that propelled her into action. Her eyes blinked, her jaw clenched, and adrenaline surged as she moved in for the kill. Every detail imprinted itself in her memory, and the thrill was everything she had craved. The metallic taste in her mouth, the adrenaline rushing as Mary-Anne's face twisted with fear, cowering before a fifteen-year-old girl. The exhilaration would linger for days.
Alas, the deed was done, and when she returned her focus to the current situation, her father was gripping onto both of her shoulders, shaking them.
“Listen to me, girl. No one is to know of this, do you understand?”
She nodded, but her father's probing gaze persisted. She couldn't discern what he sought in her eyes, but it was evident he hadn't found it. There was only one question on her mind now.
“Can I have my belt back?”
Somewhere in the background, her mother began to weep, the haunting backdrop to the electrifying aftermath.
“W..Why are you like this?!”
The room crackled with tension as those words hung in the air. Their faces twisted with a chaotic blend of anger, shock, and sheer dread. It was as if they'd all been thrust into a dark, chilling nightmare, and none of them knew how to awaken. The very essence of 'this' begged understanding. The need for a response surged within her, but the conventional answer seemed inadequate. So, what was she to say in this charged moment? The unvarnished truth? No, what she craved was something far more electrifying, a surge of exhilaration to punctuate the scene. She was bored, and the perfect opportunity had materialized.
“A..A..Augustus, look a-at how sh-she stares!”
Her gaze was unwavering, of a mesmerizing, predatory intensity. It held the promise of hostility, a hint of aggression, yet she refused to flinch. Instead, her relentless eye contact conveyed confidence, a sense of dominance, even a hint of predation. It had the uncanny ability to unsettle, much like the dizzying sensation of infatuation.
Until that fateful day, she had never taken a life, though the desire had been a lurking shadow in her life. Mary-Anne, her mother's meek handmaiden, had never posed a threat. However, when she discovered Mary-Anne rummaging through her drawer, unearthing her secret "collection," something within her snapped. It was an intoxicating surge, a flood of thrilling possibilities coursing through her. The thought of her hands wrapped around Mary-Anne's throat, relentlessly squeezing until life slipped away, sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Or perhaps it was the concealed knife in her boot, the slow, agonizing cut across Mary-Anne's throat, watching life drain out. Yet, it was a specific image that ignited her, her favorite belt winding around Mary-Anne's neck, offering momentary respite before tightening again. It was that vision that propelled her into action. Her eyes blinked, her jaw clenched, and adrenaline surged as she moved in for the kill. Every detail imprinted itself in her memory, and the thrill was everything she had craved. The metallic taste in her mouth, the adrenaline rushing as Mary-Anne's face twisted with fear, cowering before a fifteen-year-old girl. The exhilaration would linger for days.
Alas, the deed was done, and when she returned her focus to the current situation, her father was gripping onto both of her shoulders, shaking them.
“Listen to me, girl. No one is to know of this, do you understand?”
She nodded, but her father's probing gaze persisted. She couldn't discern what he sought in her eyes, but it was evident he hadn't found it. There was only one question on her mind now.
“Can I have my belt back?”
Somewhere in the background, her mother began to weep, the haunting backdrop to the electrifying aftermath.