Lillian Gray


1. Lillian Gray

A drug induced haze engulfs my aching limbs in the familiar feeling that once again awakens my sixth sense and calms my worries to nothingness. To the surface it beckons my true soul, which appears undisturbed from its years of sleep. It floats to the surface like a corpse rising up from the deep, soundless but with true potential at its fingertips. An eerie, spooky wind whistles through my nervous anticipation. The blow makes my body shiver and chilly air continues to sparkle in the nighttime sky. Over my arms run goose bumps, progressing down my spine until it tempers with my thoughts and muffles my reality into the distorted fantasy in which I am the hero, not the villain.

Crisp mixes of skewbald colored autumn leaves cloud the soft, dew-covered grass crunching below my brown leather shoes. My feet become encased a sloopy brown mud that trickles across my shoes and the flinch in my expression is enough explanation. Loud crackling lightning bursts into my eardrums causing a jolt in my composure. The curved haunting oak tree taunts my serenity revealing my hidden purpose for standing in the small wooded area. A wiry, sparkling twinkly silver fence remains in my side view and to my left sits a park bench containing my victims. They sit unaware of their fate, oblivious to the soft footsteps of my feet slowly stepping towards the bench wet with condensation as the humidity stings my eyes. The thick fog generates a wall between the brown wooden bench and the leaf-covered ground where my silhouette stands in the moonlit night.

Thunder and quick raindrops whisk tendrils of short curls across the soft skin of my forehead. The dark locks of jet-black hair waggle across my delicate snow-white skin shading my pale turbid blue eyes from the sight of my prey. Nonchalantly, they sit, chitchatting about their day, pushing their perfectly straight blonde streaks away from their sun kissed, golden tanned skin. My tall frame blends in like camouflage with the dark brown trees behind me. I quietly attempt to bend to get a better look and my physique becomes that of the hunchback of Notre Dame. Perfectly shaped eyebrows dance across the upper half of my face while I try to squint my eyes to look farther towards the bench.

Their slim bodies quiver in the cool breeze, as I bask in the lightness of the frosty wind and the chill overcomes my body. My eagerness to destroy their pleasure fills me with indescribable joy and contemplation. I can see the profilers, working in their stingy office buildings with the other FBI agents struggling to narrow down my personality and my psychosis to a minimum group of people with such traits. However, I cannot focus on such unimportant, trivial matters as the protection of Lillian is at stake. If she isn’t secure and safe than I am nothing but a failure. Those girls who childishly teased, creating a mockery out of her will be put down immediately and must pay for such ghastly, awful behavior. Bursting out of my cage, I will once again be the revived soul of the avenger. So many years have passed these eyes; I have awaited the chance to yet again regain my true purpose in safeguarding and securing the safety of poor, weak, fragile Lillian Gray.

Lillian was like every other girl in our small seaside town: she was beautiful, tanned, petite, and envied by those who saw her gorgeousness not only on the outside. Her sparkling majestic dark brown hair seemed infinite when she would push it aside as we sat at the beach on the long, never-ending summer evenings. Her imaginative personality was one of several traits that girls were jealous of. After many occasions of being tormented and enduring anguish she ran away. She ran away from me, I loved her and she just ran away. Suffering had been my victims’ fault and now they will pay for what they did. They made Lily leave; they made her abandon me like a little puppy on the road to fend for myself, as my sad eyes had to see the pain of my only soul mate, her torturers laughed gaily around camp fires and parties. How was I to survive without the only person I’d ever been closest to in this awful world? She was everything to me, the closest relationship I’d ever had, and she deserted me like I meant nothing to her.

It is my right as Lillian’s savior to mark revenge on her tormentors; they deserve to be punished for their sins. They sit casually, non-expectant of their already-decided fate, oblivious to the hints I’ve so kindly given them. If only they had any clue of the punishment they were about to endure, maybe then they could be sorry for their misdeeds. My body moves forward, but my mind stays in place and I cannot help but feel like there should be guilt in my thoughts. However, whatever guilt I should be feeling about my plan has evaporated into thin air. My heels lightly click along the fading cement paved tiles toward the bench; the girls glance up and murmur about a sound they may have heard as my presence is exposed to them.

Making sure to alleviate whatever concerns they have about the slight noise, I stop and wait for what seems like an eternity. Inconsiderate gossip about the girls’ guilt fills the quiet, soft air in the park. This is the park I grew up in and now it will be the park I terrorize, the park will become tainted with the blood of my victim. Standing behind the bench overseeing my victim, my mind wanders to their bodies being torn into tiny shred-like pieces that will be sprinkled over the beautiful garden roses in the park that was once so peaceful and serene. Unknown horrors have taken place in this park and now those who were the target of those horrors will be avenged.

“Hello,” whispered my choked up, raspy voice. It sounded through the lifeless blackness like an unwanted poison taking its toll on those breathing it in. The girls looked around cautiously for the one who spoke the word and that is when I made my move. Out from my hidden jacket pocket arose my knife; it tickled my murderous sense silly as I made my way to their bodies. Slick and stealthily slitting the neck of the first girl, this one was tall, blonde, as well as a swimmer for the nearby high school. She was what people would call a Town’s Treasure, who everyone loved and would be truly disappointed if she happened to be murdered. Where as the other girl, wandered towards the swing set; those dust covered, pieces of filth, wood swings had always comforted her when she was a young girl and because she had nowhere to go. Splattered blood covered the black bench, tainting its once shiny dark color to a bright ruby red.

Her feet moved gingerly frontward and backward as well. Each move of her tiny little feet hesitated before they continued on. Breathing was loud from her mouth as her nervousness and eagerness overcome all other emotions at hand. She knew her fate and somehow that would make the kill all the less satisfying. I was a lion about to pounce on its prey; my contentment of kill would not be gratifying if surprise wasn’t a key element. Being fooled out of my own fulfillment, which took me hours of preparation for retribution, would be so overwhelmingly inadequate. This slaughter has been my goal for so long, I do not know what would happen to my pathetic life without it. All of my thoughts had been for this very night and now they were to be ruined by that brave little brat swinging about ten yards away from me. Hastily, flowing movement hit me like an astonishing slap on the face. Surprise engulfed me in a curious mist of confusion.

Puzzled by the moving figure my body morphed into a jello-like substance and my bones seemed to falter to my own weight. There she was, the beauty of my life and even so recognizing her was the first step in recovery from my trauma. Her face was just as I remembered, and the familiarity warped me fifteen years back to high school. Reliving days of our youth in that singular moment was more gratifying than any fantasy I could have imagined, actually living such a dream was indescribable. Glancing at me in that expensive gray suit, how coincidental it was that she was wearing gray, moments past didn’t seem to matter. Then she did the unimaginable, the victim I had planned on killing sat dumbfounded as the now grown woman she had always bullied relentlessly for years, saved her life. A single shot was heard as a quivering hand looked me dead on and pulled the trigger. It was in that second that I knew my purpose was not to be the killer, but rather to be killed as that long brown hair whipped me in the face.



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