The White Rose
The White Rose stories
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What would make a man act so vile and cruel to those he sees around him. A simple though and he acts on it purely people he wants to, take a look into the heart of a man who acts on impulses and lust. A story about dread sorrow but at the end of the tunnel there will be light

The White Rose

Prologue The knife slowly dragged along the flesh, drawing a fountain of blood out from the laceration. The warm smell of iron filled the man’s nose as he went to work drawing multiple slices upon the body, which erupted with more spurts of blood, coating the metal of the knife and his hand. Blasting from the radio next to him was Vivaldi Winter, the many screeches of the violins sending his hand into fluid motion while his head moved with the melody. The table he was working on was stainless steel with a bowl at the base of it for drawing the blood into a network of pipes that funneled out into different buckets. He drew the knife back and looked upon his work with a frown, blood still dripping out of the wounds, he gazed into the cold, dead stare of the woman. Her hair was a deep red hinting at violet tones that clung to her pale complexion with a sharp nose and soft nostrils that stuck out from her face like a small beacon. Her lips were plump with life but the colour had been drained from them. He slowly drew his blade lightly across her flat belly following it down the voluptuous body along her small legs and across her feet. He brought the knife back up to her chest, digging the curved blade under her breast and deep into the tissue allowing his blade to tear through the fat of the breast and muscle. Loud crunches echoed through the dimly light room. A deep grumble escaped his lips as he set down the knife onto the table, fishing through his pocket with his other hand for the packet of Virginia Slims, licking his dry and cracked lips as he pulled out the packet. He dragged his feet along the wooden floorboards as he made his way towards a chair. it th an effort he sat himself down, groaning as he pulled open the packet with chewed back fingernails. The slim cigarette slid out and was moved to rest upon his lips. A slow smile was brought to his thin but plump lips, with both thumb and index finger resting on the middle of the cigarette as he pulled it closer to him and bit against the filter. His other hand dropped the packet down onto his lap to allow him to fish out a zippo from the pocket of his double breasted wool coat. The top part of the lighter flicked up with a clicking sound as metal hit metal, his thumb brushing against the flint and drawing out a quick spark, and then a flame stood, waving back and forth in the middle. The light danced wildly as it was moved to the end of the cigarette, paper and tobacco burning as the fire was introduced to the compound that was the cigarette. He drew deep a long drag from the base,the quick rush of nicotine entering his system he quickly closed the zippo. Wisps of smoke erupted from his nose and sides of his mouth as he sharply exhaled, The radio song switching as it finished playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, echoing it's haunting but melodic piano in the background as he took yet another drag, allowing a quick glance at the clock, whose hands pointed to four thirty in the morning. “Damn” He grumbled, looking back to his work with the utmost annoyed expression anyone could possibly manage. He jolted up onto his feet quickly and strided over towards the body, cigarette in hand, he placed the butt of the burning tobacco and paper onto her neck and allowed it to sizzle and burn. The porcelain-like skin beginning to flake and wilt like a flower under the scorching heat of the sun. “Oh my sweet dear we have to get finished with you soon.” he said to the body, pulling back the now snuffed out cigarette.

A loud crash from the other side of the building quickly brought him out of his contemplation. “Shit!” he growled as he accidently dropped the cigarette on the ground, darting for the knife on the table and quickly beginning to clean the blade with the end of his sleeve. The creaks and groans began to come closer, and he looked up timidly and started to make his way towards the window, leaving his knife and work behind him. It had been many years since he was last walked in on. He drew forth leather gloves from his jean pockets and shoved them onto his hands before opening the window. The hinges that held the window shut screeched in protest as it was pushed open. He cursed his terrible luck and with fluid movement he swung a leg onto the outside while adjusting his back to the open night air. Hunching his shoulders up he looked back into the room and listened. The footsteps became heavy on the floorboards, accompanied with muffled scrapes and a sharp click that sent a shiver up his neck and along his limbs. The door leading to the room swung open and slammed against the wall, the revolver glinting faintly as it was held in the figure’s hand. The figure seemed to almost choke at the ghastly sight laid before him, but upon recovering from the awful sight he noticed the killer sitting upon the window sill, his dark form blocking out the moon. Up came the revolver, and the sharp recock of the hammer as he pointed it towards the window. Before he could react, the killer tossed himself out of the window, followed by a sharp and loud fire as the gun went off, the bullet smacking into his shoulder and passing by as he fell out of the window and into the crashing river below him. His body collided with the icy cold water making him quickly go into shock. He kicked his feet against the water and broke the icy surface with his mouth moving in short gasps as the cold water curled its grip onto his muscles and body. The river’s current forced his tired body along the stream the icy water coating the insides of his mouth with teeth chattering water. The world around him began to blacken around him while his body spun around slowly in the water, a faint warm tingle up his feet as he layed there. How did this happen? He thought as he lost consciousness.e

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