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Game Over:: English short story. |
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Game Over:: A short story by yours truly for an English assignment. ** Will update journal once I get my dang mark for it next week :'D
She stood over him, eyes wide in excitement. Like an animal would hover over its prey. A smirk played at the corners of her lips as she rolled the body face first effortlessly with a foot, face smeared into the ground. The street lights flickered aimlessly above them; they were the only ones in sight. A shaking hand held a slender, bloodied knife, the other tracing its fingers across the sharp edge.
Defeated whimpers escaped the helpless body beneath her, only making her excitement grow, smirk widening in pure pleasure. Kneeling down, the girl still clutched the knife. Raising her other hand, she ran it through the victim’s hair, a flinch escaping the body as her head bent down. Strands of hair brushed the side of his face as her lips lingered near his ear as she cooed, “It’ll be all over before you know it.” Her grip tightened noticeably on the handle of the knife, an eerie grin plastered itself across her face.
The blade rose. The body stiffened at the swift movement, falling limp as it pierced the skin. All was quiet. The streets, the body and the girl were all quiet as she watched the contents of the body spill from its insides, forming a crimson pool. She continued to hover over the corpse, fingers coiling around the handle of the device. Swift movements of the wrist retracted the blade, slicing flesh as it was removed.
Slowly the girl stood, street lights catching a glimpse of her. Long jet-black hair splayed across her back, paired with gray-blue eyes that held no sympathy. She was neither sickly thin or over weight, maintaining a healthy average. An attractive girl she was, but looks were deceiving. Optics trailed the darkened corners of the street before she broke out into a fast paced sprint. The body laid still, covered in its juices.
“Kanaria!” the voice echoed from within the corridor, an impatient sigh followed. A man who appeared in his forties sat at an oak desk, drumming his fingers along the surface. He wore a grey suit, hair gelled back, not a single strand out of place.
Footsteps became louder as she neared. It was the girl that held the same pleasurable smirk smeared across her features as she presented herself.
“I trust you completed your job…?” he questioned, flipping through a stack of folders.
Nodding, Kanaria flashed a sadistic grin, one that could send shivers down one’s spine, “Yes…I am one of the best after all.” It was true. She was well known for her strategic plans and successful killings. Almost everyone involved in the ‘business’ wanted her, like a pet in the palm of their hands. She was the ultimate weapon and she was well aware. It was just a game to her though. A game she always won. She stood, almost bored, waiting for further instruction. Instead the man waved her off.
Kanaria stood in the elevator. It slowly suffocated as bodies filled its enclosed area. Glancing around, muffled conversations soon briefed her curiosity as she overheard one in particular.
“I know…with that form of a wound in the back, you’d expect it to be fatal,” the other cut in, “I would hate to be the one responsible for that ‘living dead man’. Wasn’t the man stabbed? Yet somehow he fled unscathed?”
The voices turned into weak mumbles as Kanaria stood, body shaking. Her eyes were wide with sheer panic, knees trembling beneath her. A hand grasped the silver rail behind the elevator came to a stop, the queue of people filing out one by one. She was the only one vacant in the space, thoughts flooding her mind as she was the last to stagger out, I’ve never lost. I must find him and settle it once and for all. It wouldn’t be long before news had travelled.
Few weeks passed as she searched, but came up empty handed. Her confidence began to falter unknowingly as the search progressed. No one had found out within the short amount of time that she let the target escape its death. It would stay this way until she could clutch the fleeing victim in her hands, to cause him a slow and painful death to make up for her mistake.
She grimaced at the thought of failure, arms crossed over one another as she rocked in the chair, “There will be blood,” she murmured to herself as she stood, “His blood.” Grabbing a folder from off of the table, she opened it briefly. Its contents jumped off the page as she glared down at the picture attached to the file with a rusted paperclip. The photo was wallet sized and tattered at the edges, but was clear enough to make out the picture.
Her subconscious mind burst into vivid flames. It was the living dead man. In the picture, he looked young with bright features, though he was the opposite. Just like Kanaria he was a killer who enjoyed the pain and suffering of his prey. To her, the man was competition, as to him she was as well. They were in the same league, the alpha in their game, which meant they were after each other’s lives.
Kanaria gritted her teeth at the thought, to think, that wound wasn’t fatal. A frustrated sigh escaped through her lips. Her fist flung down violently on the surface of the table, the legs rattling beneath it. Closing the folder, her finger clenched the edges, the material threatening to tear under her grip. Shaking her head, beads of sweat trickled down her face, clumps of hair sticking to her cheeks. Her hand wiped the substance away before grabbing a set of mixed keys off of the table.
She staggered out of the room, locking the door behind her with a shaky hand, both from excitement and nausea. Regaining her composure, Kanaria walked down the hall, passing the elevator as she reached a door which led to the stairway. As she stepped down, flight by flight her mind raced. Scrambled thoughts occupied her mind. Kanaria struggled to keep them in line, flustered at the idea of losing, “I will not lose,” she mused to herself. Soulless eyes glanced towards the EXIT sign, noting the burnt out ‘I’. Pushing the door forwards, it creaked as she stepped out into the night.
As she walked down the empty street, a figure side stepped behind her, as if they were the air in front of her face. She failed to notice the unknown shadow lurking few feet behind her. Muffled screams escaped her lips as the figure clutched a rag covered in toxins over her mouth. She could barely keep up a struggle before her body lay lifeless like a mannequin.
Her eyes refused to open, an unknown force appearing to keep them closed. Several minutes passed before they opened, absorbing her surroundings. Bright lights swung by thin wires above the open area. Vermin scurried across the filth covered ground towards boxed crate and barrels. The smell was musty, mixed with gasoline and other toxic fumes. Kanaria’s head swayed before attempting to stand. She was unsuccessful. Tension pulled at her wrists as she wiggled in the chair that she was bonded to. Turning her neck, she could see the ropes entwined with her wrists.
Kanaria continued to pull her wrists, eyes closing tight in frustration. The rope that held her wrists began to tear away at her flesh, red drops falling free. Several attempts passed as she forced the rope to unravel. Pulling one wrist free, followed by the other she pulled them to eye level. She rotated them. The flesh was raw and bloodied. It was only minutes before she had untied her ankles from the legs of the chair.
Her eyes were frantic with a hungry desire. She wasn’t alone. One doesn’t get tied down to a chair magically. Kanaria’s head snapped around, gray eyes turned bright as a man stepped out from the shadows that had enveloped him, hands clapping in a slow applause, “Surprised?” he chuckled as her body moved forward automatically, a magnetic force drawing her near.
“No, but you will be,” she spat defensively. Her stance was wavering as she broke out into a sprint, her right arm flung out towards his face, only grazing his cheek.
The man smirked at the gesture Kanaria had performed, feeling the need to return the favour. Instead of missing, his hit was successful.
Kanaria staggered back, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood onto the ground. She used the back of her hand to wipe the remaining liquid from her lips. The toxin she had inhaled still affected her performance. She swayed back and forth, unable to keep still.
The man stepped closer, each step sending a wave of sound into her ears. She continued to sway, taking few steps forward to swing another fist at the man. Her punches became slow as the man wore her grin.
He began to step closer with no hesitation as she tried to flee; only cornering herself behind a plentiful of crates. Kanaria remained still, back facing a corner as she watched a glint of light reflect off an object in the man’s grasp. She shook her head, eyes narrowed on the slim weapon before realizing it was hers. It was her knife. It was the weapon that caused many of her victim’s deaths. The one that didn’t kill the man that stood before her.
Shaking arms rose as protection, a slew of curses escaping her clenched teeth. Her knees began to buckle, smashing onto the cold surface. Her arms caught her fall as she wobbled, unsteady. Kanaria’s head drooped in defeat, her hair covering her face, “I…never lose,” she snapped angrily, but the man stood over her. Her worst nightmare was now transparent. The knife drove into the nape of her neck. Eyes widened in pain, she trembled beneath him. She could feel the blade as he tore it from her frigid skin, the fresh opening revealed. Her arms fell limp as her body became numb, twitches released as she lay mangled.
Kanaria’s vision began to blur, the edges fading to black. She watched him release the knife by her face, the sound echoing through her head. She watched as he walked away, stopping just short of the only exit before her turned. His eyes burned of sweet victory as he chortled a crude laugh, “Game over.”
 strawberry monochrome · Wed Sep 30, 2009 @ 12:27am · 1 Comments |
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