Bloodbath

I clench my hand around the knife handle. Streaky ribbons of dawn sunlight met my eyes in a time-old conflict.

Hissing, I shy away from the summer light and concentrate on my long hand gripping the knife. The heavy bone feels right in my hands.

Smiling, I pull the hood of my jacket up over my head and hide the knife in a pocket. Just before I leave, I pull thick woollen gloves on. Fingerprints can be vital to a investigation, I know.

I was going to enjoy this.

I give a muffled shriek as I see a man, all in black, approach the house. He walks stealthily, almost invisible to the naked eye, but I know he is coming.

I could escape, put the whole world between him and I, but he should always find me. It is inevitable, foretold. I didn't notice that I had begun to weep, as he vaults the gate.

Unlocks the back door. I didn't notice that I had begun to weep, as he vaults the gate.

Unlocks the back door. Climbs the stairs. I didn't notice that I had begun to weep, as he vaults the gate. I didn't notice that I had begun to weep, as he vaults the gate.

He had found his last victim.

He had found his last victim. And blood would be shed.