There is nothing I adore more than the
smell of blood!
Have you ever experienced the smell
of fresh blood? No? Well, you’re really missing out. But if you ever get to
experience it someday (and we all know you won’t, because you don’t have the
balls to do what it takes to get the experience), you’ll see that it smells
just like a combination of tarnished metal and sweet red liquor. Delicious!
Well, my blade just so happens to be
covered in that lovely liquid right now. Yum!
Pardon me while I indulge.
***
Aw man, that guy’s blood really
sucked. But I got a new sweatshirt off of him, so he wasn’t completely useless.
The rest of him went into the Pit with the rest of them.
I know exactly what
you’re thinking: “Who is this psycho licking some guy’s blood off a blade?”
Well, maybe where you come from, I am a psycho. Maybe in your stupid,
sheltered, frilly-fluffy little world of bullshit, I am crazy, sick, psychotic,
deranged, demented, and a monster. But guess what? I’m not from where you’re
from. I don’t live in your world, and I don’t follow its rules. I live in my
world, and I make the rules. I am the queen, ruling my world with my
sharpened, blood-stained blade. And that’s who I am: Blade Queen, the queen of
my world, the queen of blades, and the harbinger of death. If you enter my
world, you will die. If I like your stuff, you will die naked and
empty-pocketed. If I like the way you look, you will die pleasuring me.
You’re
probably going, “Bullshit, nobody’s parents would name their kid Blade Queen.” Well,
aren’t you so fucking observant? Do you feel proud of yourself for
reaching such a perfectly clever conclusion? So even though this is really none
of your goddamn business in any way, shape, or form, I will tell you who I was
before I was Blade Queen: Rebekah Hearst. But I’m not her anymore, so if I ever
catch you calling me that, you should not expect to keep your spinal cord for
very long. In fact, now that you’ve managed to badger that kind of personal
information out of me, I’m a little pissed off at you. You’d better go away for
a while, before I’m forced to do something that just might involve my blade and
your throat.
***
It’s my
twenty-first birthday, whoohoo.
I shall celebrate
with a little moonshine. Normally, that shit is deadly, but not to me; I’ve
been playing with the stuff for a long enough time to develop the balls for it.
I started in high school, and was expelled when I decided to head into the
girl’s bathroom after hours to do some brew work. If you ask me, it’d taken way
too damn long to get me out of that hellish place. No, I will not talk about
high school anymore; you already got enough goddamn information out of me.
Here’s to
three years of birthday moonshine and cake from the flesh of my victims, and to
a hundred more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be so wasted that I
won’t even have a mind anymore for the rest of the day.
***
Holy shit,
do I ever feel very goddamn pathetic right now.
Give me a
minute, will you? I feel like too much of a jackass to write about what just
happened right now.
***
All right.
So I was
minding my business rolling up a smoke by the creek, and heard some rustling
around in the leaves. Around here, that means I’ve got some fresh meat coming
my way. I spit-shined my blade and headed off to deal with the intruder the way
I deal with all of them (and I was pretty PO’d at this particular intruder,
because the bint interrupted my smoke, so I was not going to go easy on them in any way, shape, or form).
I placed
myself in a suitable hiding place among the trees and got a good look at my
victim: a pale little blonde girl screwing around in the brush right next to my
campground, looking around with this oh-dear-me-I-am-so-very-lost expression.
The extra-stupid ones are always the most amusing—they’re the ones who always
start screaming and crying about how they only lost their way and please just
let them find their way back and they’ll surely never come around here again oh
they promise with all their heart
that they’ll just be on their way. Their expressions before they’re put out of
their misery are priceless.
I took a
good hard look at this little blonde mid-twenties bitch and imagined the face
she’d make while she was dying; some people made “Aaaah” faces, some people
made “Ohhh,” faces, some cried, some just widened their eyes and stayed that
way after the kill…this girl looked stupid enough to be an “Ohhh” face, or
perhaps she’d die with a stupid smile on her face, like she was in so much
denial that she was about to die that she just decided to laugh about it
instead. She looked like one of those stupid sacks of shit who didn’t even know
their left from their right, and yet still
wanted to go on living in that condition. I was happy—that was the kind of prey
you fuck around with as much as possible before offing them. It was one of my
very favorite kinds.
Well, it was
now time to get the bimbo’s attention. I picked up three branches and snapped
them all in half at the same time, and the girl jumped and spun around to look
at me like a deer in fucking headlights. Her eyes were wide enough to be big
rig tires. She was one of the dopiest-looking people I’d ever seen in my life,
and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud upon seeing her. Poor little bitch. I
could tell no one would miss this one once I had my way with her. Who wasted
their care on something so utterly pathetic?
I took a
step toward her and made sure to make myself look like I was nobody to fuck
with. Before the bimbo could even think of trying to run, I pounced on her like
a panther that’d been poked in the ass one too many times. She yelped, which I
found hilarious and made sure to let her know it—it really gets ‘em when you laugh in the face of their misery, when
you show ‘em that you think it’s absolutely hilarious that they’re in pain and
about to die. I had a bit of fun with her, pinking her arm with the blade a
couple times just for shits and gigs. I was hoping she’d scream and yelp and
entertain me some more, but she had fallen completely silent. Oh great, she was
one of those assholes who decided to
just shut up and accept their fates. Either that or I had effectively terrified
the voice out of her. I was really hoping for the latter.
“Listen up,
you little blonde bint,” I said, pressing the blade hard into the back of her
neck. “Nobody comes back her and lives, and if you think you’re gonna be any
different, you’ve got another thing coming.” I was all set to put her out of
her misery. I envisioned the blood spewing from her neck--maybe I’d keep going
until her head wasn’t even attached anymore--and thought of how she’d start
crying and screaming at me to let her go the moment I began to cut. Of course I
wouldn’t just take this one out in one blow, that would remove the fun aspect.
I began to laugh at the thought of it all.
So then she
finally grew the balls to say something. She said, “Okay.”
Just…”okay.”
No pleading,
no screaming, no begging, no crying, no struggling to get away, just a whole
lot of silence followed by “Okay.”
I thought I
must’ve been having some kind of trip, or else I didn’t hear her correctly.
Without moving the blade, I bended way the hell down so that I was breathing
right in her left ear and said, “What did you just say?”
“I said
‘okay.’”
“Did you not
hear what you’re saying ‘okay’ to, or are you just that stupid?”
“I heard
what you said.”
“So you’re
okay with me ending your life right now?”
“Yes. You
can kill me if that’s what you need to do.”
Hol-y shit.
***
I let her
live. That’s why I feel like an utter jackass.
I didn’t let
her go, I just let her live. And for
the life of me I could not figure out what possessed me to do it. Maybe I just
thought she was some kind of hallucinatory experience stemming from all the
smoking I’d been doing—which couldn’t have been possible, because I’d smoked
practically all my life and I’d never had any sort of hallucination from it.
Maybe that leaf I’d rolled up had been a psychedelic—no, I knew these woods
inside and out and there were no psychedelic plants in here. Maybe she was just
such a whole new kind of pitiful that I found her too pitiful to even be worthy
of being killed by me.
And then I
figured it out: she’s suicidal. I’d never gotten anyone who actually wanted to
die, but it made complete sense that I’d keep them alive if they were suicidal.
Death was what they wanted. Their lives were so utterly trashed that death
would be a release to them. Of course,
I would keep that type alive when they so desperately didn’t want to be. Score
for Blade Queen!
But of
course I didn’t let her get away. What, do you think I’d be so stupid as to let
her get away so she could run off and blab about me to anyone she wanted? In
the outside world, I was a sort of ghost story—I’d learned this from a few of
my past victims. Everyone knew nobody who entered this neck of the woods ever
came out of it, so they started telling eachother that it was a ghost killing
everyone or dragging them to the spirit world or turning them into ghosts and all kinds of other shit.
Some said it was some kind of supernatural force, or even the devil (the devil!
I laughed hysterically when I heard that one. I, Blade Queen, had actually
become the devil!). Either way, the ghost tales covered my ass and kept more
stupid thrill-seekers coming to look for the ghost—more fun for me, of course!
So if I let
this girl go, she’d go around telling people it wasn’t a ghost. So after she so
graciously gave me permission to kill her, I grabbed her and tossed her into
the ditch I used to have to live out of before I stole this tent from some campers
I got rid of. I guess I should’ve at least cussed at her or something while I
was throwing her in the ditch, but I was struck dumb or something (emphasis on dumb).
I pushed her into the
ditch and I told her she was to stay there until I decided when the appropriate
time would come to end her life. “And if I catch you trying to flee,” I said,
“you will meet my good friend Mr. Rifle.”
“I won’t try
to escape,” she answered back. God, she really must be stupider than even the
stupidest of stupids. I stood by the ditch, expecting her to try to spring out
and take off, but she just sank to the ground and wrapped her arms around her
knees. I looked at her huge-ass eyes to see if she was even crying, but she
wasn’t. Her eyes weren’t even wet.
I was tired
of looking at her. I ran back to my tent, feeling less enthusiastic about my
first suicidal victim than I really should. I checked on her not too long ago,
though, and she was sleeping like she was in the luxury suite of the world’s
fanciest hotel. She’s completely unaware that she’s about to freeze to death.
Or maybe she
just doesn’t give a shit.
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