He was laying prone on the floor. Already, his arms bled, dozens of tiny knicks and wounds bleeding his life into her hands. Pulling him up by his luscious long hair, she laid her hips across his chest, knowing the scent of her body would wash over his nose eventually. She wanted to savor his reaction, to bathe in it for months yet to come. She remembered the look in his eyes when she'd first gotten her contract and had met him. They say she had no feelings, and until that look, she'd have agreed. She saw a reaction to her looks she'd seen a dozen times before in as many places. Eyes filled with hope, desire, and a want for the future. She could easily have carried out her job then and collected her cash.
Yet something about her, call it an innate desire, wanted to see this man squirm in betrayal. So she responded kindly, struck up a conversation, went with him, played the hard-to-get. Teased back and forth, fought for survival, and even, when her profession had been discovered, claimed to have given it all up. For him. She'd felt nothing that entire time, but always, she thought there was the tip of emotion on the edge of her thoughts. An anticipation of anticipation. She waited, and waited, because maybe her desire to see his limp form hanging dead in her arms would overtake her, and finally she'd know what these other people felt all the time. In time, she saw this man's thoughts change.
She was a hard woman, whispering in his ear even then. Nibbling on the soft pink flesh of his now paling skin. He was making these delightful gagging sounds. Trying to talk? Beg for his life? But her mind was preoccupied with one thought. This was as empty as every time before. She'd killed a king, and come out unchanged and unscathed. Had fought a duel with a master swordsman, had slain him not by skill but by trickery. She had murdered over a dozen people in cold blood, and she had no desire to stop. No matter what she did, she felt nothing, and she'd been doing this for so long, it would be against reason to do something different for no reason. And this man was dying.
She sensuously slid a knife across his bloodied chest, once up, and down. Purring in front of his face, watching his eyes, seeing his emotion, and thinking that death was such a cheap thing. She thought that this was empty. Devoid of emotions or feelings, as every incident in the past. Even as all her plans to bring him closer to her had come to successful fruition, even as she'd manipulated an entire town, convincing them of a wrong killer, it had been empty. It had all been for this moment, the culmination of her efforts, in which finally she would glimmer with true glee, or drown in actual despair. She would know it would be real, and it would be a difference to her current mode of being.
But even then, when she brought the knife up and jammed it through the man's eye repeatedly, ripping it up and out and in again, she still felt calm, in control of herself, and without any feeling, devoid of any emotion. Her arm halted, his body fell back. Still straddling his waist, she stayed that way for a while. She always stayed as she had been. Five minutes. Four. Three. She stood. Without stopping, without thinking, she brought her blade up again. So it was, without emotion, that she plunged the knife's blade deep into its sheath again. Just another job under the belt, in the end. Once again, nothing worth note, nothing especially interesting. She knew where to receive her payment.
She ignored the man's jeers about the time it took. Her statement about extenuating circumstances was met with a mocking glare, a joke, and an all around ignored tirade. She had another job scheduled to begin in a few days, and she'd use the money just earned to do nothing for a few days. She never did anything.
Lovely, truly it's beautiful.
This revels in cliches.
Moreover, couldn't this be called The Sensual Kill?
I likes me cliches.
Quote from: UltaFlame on May 20, 2010, 07:17:37 pm
I likes me cliches.
I figured. It a delightful source of unoriginality.
/wrote it when I was supposed to be sleeping.
Not very creative at that time of day.