Through the Killer's Eyes pt.1

  Blood. Everywhere. The beautiful crimson tragedy soaked the floor and splattered the walls, stealing the room's innocence and replacing it with a gory reminder of the events it had housed in recent hours. The photos on the walls became distorted under the film of red. The pages of the magazines scattered on the coffee table bubbled and congealed together in the thick liquid they were drowning in. The bindings of the books placed alphabetically on the shelves dripped that sacred substance necessary to the life of all human being's.
    Then there was her. The blood matting together her golden locks, smearing across her lily-white skin, turning her yellow dress a deep red. She was quite beautiful indeed, an even greater vision now than she had been when air still whispered through her lips. Not that she hadn't been a beauty then. If she hadn't, then of course she wouldn't be here now, looking like a lovely wilted white rose thrown among hundreds of fresh red rose petals. Yes, that pretty little face she was so oblivious to was the very thing that led to her demise. I do have a type, after all. Her face would blend and merge perfectly with the many other's of my memory.
    A smile cold as ice crept across my face as I took in the scene. The girl lay broken and bloody on the floor, her blue eyes staring but not seeing; her soft pink lips parted in terror, but not even an echo of a scream was to be heard; her pretty, pretty face frozen forever in an expression of fear and betrayal that she could no longer feel. If I had a concscience, I may be feeling...what is it called? Regret? Remorse? One of those two ludicrous emotions. Then again, maybe even then I wouldn't care. Perhaps a conscience is only a lie people tell when really, they just don't have the balls to do what they truly, deeply, desire.
    I stood and glanced around, searching for any evidence I could have possibly left behind that the flames, which I would soon ingnite, would possibly leave behind. There was nothing.