I stood in the shadows; watching, waiting. It was finally time to play. He sat at the back of the cafeteria with his friends like he always did. Nothing had changed, except for me. As I strode toward him I noticed he still had that annoying bunch of groupies around him, and that he still looked incredible. The only real difference was that instead of hiding and watching him, I was standing behind him with a knife.

After years of mind games and complicated issues, I wasnt going to stand in front of him, shifting from foot-to-foot like a toddler who had to go to the bathroom, and ask him if I could please kill him now. Instead, I went for the direct approach.

Long, strong, black hair, such a useful handle. I touched it, wanting to caress and stroke...not pull. I knew I had to, so I did. His head snapped back and he looked at me, upside down, in suprise and not just a little pain. His hair is very well attached. I stared into those beautiful eyes of his and whispered, "While I have your attention..." and pulled out my knife.

It was a powerful blade, a scary sight. It was an especially threatening thing to feel pressed against your neck. He tried to shove me away and get up but its rather hard to do with a razor sharp blade against ones neck. Still whispering in his ear, ignoring the gasps and stares of his groupies, I mentioned that not only did I have this knife, but a gun as well, and if he didnt want any extra holes in his body, he should come with me.

He made the stupidest, and last decision of his life: he came with me. I suppose he guessed I was crazy enough to have a gun. It's a good thing he thought that, because he's a lot bigger and stronger than I am.

So thats how I got him into my basement. Now comes the fun part.

----

“Are you scared?”

Silence.

“Are you scared?” I asked again, poking him with the knife. A small dimple formed in the smooth flesh of his side and blooded welled up. He winced but still didn’t reply. I could see fear under the surface of his eyes, but it was almost completely covered by his “I don't care” expression. Despite my ongoing hatred for him I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of admiration. He knew almost for sure that I was going to kill him, yet he remained brave. He hadn’t begged or even really talked since I had abducted him two hours ago.

I fiddled with the ropes that held him to the wall, and pulled the knots tighter. He winced again as the ropes cut into the skin of his wrists. I was procrastinating, postponing the fun as long as possible. I could’ve started to play with him the second I had him tied up, but instead I had just watched him stand there with his ankles and wrists tethered to the large circles of metal sticking out of the wall. I watched him and watched him watch me back. I could see interest and some confusion in his eyes, but no fear. There wasn’t a sign of fear until I brought out the axe and leaned it against the wall next to him. The look of fear increased as I brought out a tray filled with an array of knives, each a different size. There were tiny little knives, the blade as thin as the point of a needle, and more ranging in size up to a large one almost like a cleaver.

Now I decided it was time to stop hesitating. I picked up a medium-sized knife from the tray and stepped over to him. I held it up in front of his eyes and they widened considerably. I pressed the knifes edge to his neck and sliced a small cut into it. It wasn’t a deep wound, but the blood seeped out in a steady enough flow. I put my head to his neck and sampled his blood.

“Not bad.” I commented, wiping the excess blood from my mouth with my hand and licking it off of my fingers.

“Want some?” I asked, holding my bloody fingers out in front of his mouth. He just looked at me without expression for a second, then lunged forward and clamped his teeth on my pointer finger. He bit down hard and my blood mixed with his. With my other hand I clouted him on the side of his head and he lost his grip. He grinned, blood dripping out of his mouth and I almost decided to go for the axe right then.

“Shit, my finger hurts,” I thought as I turned back to the tray of knives, “What have I got to wipe that grin off his face?”

I selected a serrated-edged steak knife and a grin of my own appeared. He pulled back against the wall when I put the blade against his chest, but all he had accomplished was making it so that he now had nowhere to go to escape the knife. I sliced diagonally down his chest, starting at his right shoulder and ending at his left hip. The serrated edge pulled his skin with it as it cut in a way that a straight edge wouldn’t. As a result the cut was a gory mess, and looked more like it was caused by an animals claw than an everyday steak knife.

Unlike the cut on his neck, this went deep, and was bleeding profusely. He screamed with pain, but that didn’t make me want to stop, only made me want to hear him scream more. I dug my nails into the slash, ripping his skin worse and pulling it sideways. He moaned and his body writhed against the wall as he tried to get away. By now the blood was everywhere. It was dripping down his chest and pattering to the floor in dark red drops. My arms were covered with it.

Now he looked scared. No, more than scared, he looked terrified. He looked at me and all at once he looked like an innocent child of about 5. His eyes were glazed with pain and fright. His expression was like a grotesque parody of his usual ‘puppy-dog’ look that he used when he wanted someone to do something for him.

His gaze turned even more desperate and intense. “Stop”

I didn’t pay attention, and I placed the knife against his waist and slit across, making a puckered slash like a gory belt. The word “stop” turned into a shriek. It was funny; even his screams sounded fearless, only a necessary way of expressing his pain.

“Let me go!” he yelled, straining against the ropes. Sweat had broken out on his face and blood was still flowing briskly down onto the floor, where it pooled at our feet.

“The best you can hope for is a quick death,” I told him as I turned to select a different knife, “but I don't think that’s gonna happen.”