Grey Eyes

I think the idea of a story from the perspective of the villain is really interesting so I'm experimenting with a psychotic killer character. Please let me know what you think :)

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1. Grey Eyes

Low and fast, I stalked to the edge of the wood. I crouched behind an overgrown fern bush and studied my targets.

There were twenty-five of them – male – positioned in a semi-circle along the fence that sealed the camp, guns poking out like some sort of ridiculous porcupine. At the end was a ramshackle gate that pretended to give security to the inhabitants of the camp. I shuffled back a step and turned my face to the sky. The weatherman had promised a break to the rain, that we would finally see some sun. He had been wrong. Icy drops hit my cheeks, stinging as they made contact with my soft skin. I closed my eyes relishing the way the cool drops mixed with sweat and slid down my neck. My feet were slowly sinking into the mud and filth beneath me and I knew that if I stayed in this position much longer I would become stuck. I took a breath… Two… Three…

I dragged my free hand down my face, wiping away the droplets. I grimaced as I felt mud transfer from my fingers to my forehead. My skin had only just cleared up and I had no doubt the wet dirt would cause another eruption of spots. But I had more important things to deal with. And besides, my skin would be covered in worse by the time I was done.

I cocked my gun, double checking it for faults. It had none. I straitened and stepped out into sight of the guards.

 

My first bullet went straight between the chocolate brown eyes of the young man unlucky enough to be first in the formation. He didn’t even have time to blink as the life was sucked from his body. The second man went just as fast. The third was messier. He saw what I had done and what I was about to do and ducked rather than shoot. I rewarded him with a bullet to the leg so that he knew he had annoyed me, and then aimed n at his throat to finish him off. By the time bullets had entered the brains of numbers Four and Five, he had stopped gurgling and was lying still in an ever expanding pool of his own blood.

Everyone knew what was happening as number Six charged at me, thinking himself a hero. I casually aimed my gun at his head and shot him through his piercing blue iris. He hit the ground with a thwack, the red blood and brown mud covering his blonde hair.

Seven, Eight and Nine were smarter. Kneeling in the slick earth, they fired on me as one.  I slipped behind a convenient tree to avoid the storm of metal. The number of bullets shattering bark increased dramatically and I knew that more soldiers had joined Seven, Eight and Nine. But they were idiots; young an untested with no real field experience. They showed it as they fired relentlessly at the tree, with no real hope of hitting me. I waited until the guns fell silent and the hurried rustling and clicking of finding and loading spare magazines whispered through the rain. I stepped out.

Five others stood behind the three kneeling in the mud – numbers Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen and Fourteen. Twelve was ridiculously short in comparison to his comrades so I shot him first. I grinned, holding back my laughter as he fell absurdly on number Eight, who screamed at having his dead friend smother him. Seven, Nine and  number Thirteen who had carrot coloured hair, tried to help number Eight and dropped their guns in the process. The other three turned their heads to see who had fired the gun. Even from this distance, I could see the shock widen their eyes as they beheld me – a girl who looked younger than she was walking towards them with a plait draped over one shoulder and an M4 carbine in her hands. Ten and Eleven still had their mouths gaping like goldfish as I put bullets in their skulls. Fourteen ran so I shot him in the leg. I’d get to him later.

Number Seven had finally gotten Twelve off Eight. I sent a bullet into Seven’s hand so that he dropped the short man and became trapped as Eight had been moments before, though I think the irony was lost on him. Nine keeled over as most men do when a Seven millimetre piece of metal passes through them at 1,700mph.

Thirteen had placed himself between me and his friends. He had managed to reload his gun and was pointing it at me, threatening to shoot if I came any closer. When I took two more steps and he didn’t fire, I knew he never would. Guarding this camp was supposed to have been low risk and easy – a perfect way for the army to give new troops some experience. It was likely that none of them had ever killed before. It was easy enough shooting at targets on a training course, or even at an enemy hidden behind a tree. It was harder to pull the trigger when you made eye contact with the person whose life you were about to end. The boy before me was just figuring that out. But he had been brave so I killed him quickly.

Eight had vomited when the dead body of Twelve had hit him and then fainted. I put my fingers to his throat and confirmed that he had, indeed, died choking on his regurgitated food.

 

Nearby, Seven was still stuck under Twelve. People don’t seem to realise how heavy the body gets when the soul leaves it.

Tears streamed from Seven’s baby blue eyes as his sobbed one word over and over again.

“Please…Please… Please…”

“Okay,” I said. A calm seemed to come over him and he stopped speaking, though his mouth kept moving. I took his life before he had time to realise that I had aimed my gun to kill.

 

The thing you have to realise about me is that I don’t enjoy killing. It’s a job that needs to be done and if you’re nice then you don’t need to suffer. If you are stupid or abandon your friends then you deserve the pain. That’s what number Fourteen was about to find out.

 

He had only managed to run twenty feet before my bullet rendered his leg useless. In dry weather, he might have made it further but the wet dirt made it difficult to move at speed.

As I approached the pathetic man crawling through filth, I could see eleven guards gathered out of range at the flimsy wooden gate. They watched as I gently rested my foot over the hole in his thigh to hold him still. I flipped him over and straddled his chest, pinning his arms beneath my knees. I raised the butt of my gun, held it there so he could see what was going to happen and then smashed it into his nose. I felt the cartilage crunch under my weapon. I lifted my gun again and hit his mouth. I felt teeth dislodge. I hit him again. I felt blood spray my jacket. I pummelled his face until it was a scarlet mess and then I landed a blow to his throat. I felt him die. I felt justice for the friends he had abandoned. I shot him and extra few times just to make sure he was dead.

I stood and surveyed my handiwork. His would be a closed casket funeral. I shifted my focus to the eight guards at the gate and smiled at them. My smile faded as I realised that there were only eight. Three were unaccounted for. How had I missed it? Where had they gone? I sighed, angry at myself. Then a squelch sounded behind me and I knew exactly where the missing soldiers were.

 

The rain had covered the sound of their approach as I beat their comrade to death.

It was smart, sending a few to ambush me while leaving a large group to distract me and hope I wouldn’t notice the missing numbers. It had nearly worked, too. But there was a reason I was sent in alone and unaided.

 

I whirled round and shot numbers Fifteen and Sixteen, laughed as number Seventeen’s gun jammed and then shot him as well. When I turned back to the gate, some of the men were on their knees in an attempt to surrender. It wouldn’t do them any good. I had been told to kill all the guards and that was what I would do.

 

The M4 carbine has a longer range than the M1A and I made use of that as I killed the cowards who had tried to surrender. That left three of the twenty-five guards standing. And I only had one bullet left.

 

I strode confidently towards the three men. One with skinny arms fired at me and missed.

“That was a warning!” he shrieked, attempting to cover his lousy aim. The others didn’t move as I stalked closer.

When faced with danger, the body invokes the flight, fight or freeze reaction. Soldiers are trained to control that reaction and fight. But these men had just seen twenty-two of their comrades murdered by a girl who had walked out of the rain like something in a horror film. They were frozen.

I walked up to the skinny-armed soldier and hit him over the head with the butt of my gun, number Fourteen’s blood tinting his sandy hair. He dropped like a stone and I put my last bullet in his head I picked up his M1A when a scream sounded to my left as someone ran towards me. I fired before saw that my attacker was a five year old girl in a pink dress with grey eyes. I blinked in shock.

 

The sight of blood pooling around the tiny body spurred the remaining two guards into action. But I was too late. As I shot them, a Jeep rumbled up the muddy road towards me, avoiding the twenty-five bodies I had left in my wake. Twenty-six, I reminded myself, gazing at the tiny body in the mud.

 

My commander jumped out of the vehicle before it had come to a halt and clapped me on the back, offering congratulations that I didn’t hear. I knew that people in the camp were screaming and shouting as black clad rebels swarmed the tents but the world had gone strangely fuzzy. As the rebels passed, they looked at me and I saw the disgust in their eyes. The number that I had killed didn’t upset them – this was war and many of them had higher body counts. It was the way I did it; unfeeling and cold. I didn’t care.

Mud, blood and sweat coated my face and hands. It would take hours to scrub away the filth. My feet were overheating in these boots and suddenly I felt tired. I let the gun fall from my hand knowing someone else would pick it up later and wandered to a rock under a tree. I prised my feet from my boots and socks and dug my toes into the cool mud. Thirty feet away, the little girl with the grey eyes still lay with a bullet hole in her forehead. I looked up at the clouds. The rain fizzled out and the sun peaked through the mountains of grey water vapour. The rain had ended, the sun was out. It looked like the weatherman would be right after all.

 

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