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.
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.”
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.”
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.