Lost Prophets

She's been ripped away from them. Horribly and brutally murdered, leaving her loved friends baffled and wondering why, and who could do this. Nobody could've imagined something like this happening to her in a million years. Not ever, at all. But yet, here they are...without a body to bury, a soul to repent, and answers to questions.


6. Chapter six

Red. Crimson red. And it was everywhere.

Blood adorned the ceilings and walls in every room, the icing on the cake to every furniture, to every painting, to every piece of paper or shoe left on the ground. To every body it'd been strewn from, in every room, every hall, all over the mansion. He couldn't take it anymore, he just couldn't. The commotion was too much, the pressure of having to move on without her too much for him to bear on his own, and he'd taken it out on every guest there, whether they'd even spoken or looked at him, or not. They're all gone. Nobody was left. Nobody was spared. If he wasn't alone before, he definately was alone now. There was no hope. There was no savioral. There was nothing anymore.

He wandered the mansion aimlessly, stepping over body after body, kicking and checking to make sure every last body was lifeless, every drop of blood spilt. He stopped at one woman in particular who'd had her golden locks, damp from her own blood. His heart sank. For a second, a split, damned second, he thought it was her.

But it wasn't.

He was alone. Utterly and terribly alone now. His mansion now filled with lifeless bodies, mostly those 'ones with duties', and he knew eventually they would come after him. Those dreaded after images would have a ball with him, torturing his soul for an eternity and a half, but he didn't care. All he could think about was blood. His intense lust for blood.

Her blonde hair floated behind her as she elegantly tore down the stairs, an angelic form within itself.

He continued down the hall.

Her bright, bubbly blue eyes looked up into the gloomy skies, light against the dim clouds.

Into the cut off for the ebony stairs.

Her quick glance behind her at the dark figure following an in an instant that perfect, desired heartbeat quickened.

Slid down the railing skillfully sliding into the next hall.

A scream erupted from her throat as she was knocked to the ground from the dark creature's intense pounce.

To his bedroom.

She tried to fight, but the creature pinned her down with immense strength.

Locked his door.

Another scream exploded from deep in her throat as she pleaded for the creature to stop and let her go.

To the bathroom.

She turns her head, awaiting the worst.

Locked the door.

A sudden terrible, piercing burn tears through her body from her throat and she can't stop a strangled cry for help.

His hand reaches for the medicine cabinet.

She attempts to scream again, but it's cut shirt by a mutilated rip and an overwhelming sudden emptiness before unimaginable pain.

Searches for the trauma shears.

She arches her back in pain, desperately gasping for air as her torn flesh lays bloody beside where it should be on her neck.

He pulls them out.

She trembled in sudden terrible cold, her hands nearly frozen and trembling just as bad as her body and mind.

Cuts and curves his mouth into a permanent smile.

Her eyes stare into the dark skies her mouth wide as she realizes the worst and tears of fear stream down her cheeks.

Sets the scissors down.

A sharp, quick gasp for air escapes her mouth before her whole body falls limp and her eyes slowly close.

Pulls out his gun.

The creature hugs her limp body desperately trying to hang on to her as crystal blue eyes hopelessly examine her lifeless ones in realization of what he'd done.

Raises it to his temple.

A helpless wail escapes past his lips as the horror of a nightmare come true sinks in.

Closes his eyes.

Rainfall begins, pouring madly against everything in it's path, as if the clouds had been holding their breath for too long and needed the swift, sweet release of breath.

And pulls the trigger.

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