The way she walks, dresses, I could just stab her in the neck. As her dying pulse would finally stop.
I veered a corner, my head down, my arms tightly crossed against my chest and my face etched with uncertainty. I approached my house and was greeted by a firm and solid push, as Obi leaped and pushed his body onto mine as soon as I was close enough. In seconds my hand was covered in slobber, his tongue almost dripping with every lick. And her tail wasn’t wagging side to side but going round and round like a helicopter blade.
“Is that you Rebekah?”, my mum asked, from the kitchen.
I didn’t answer, but instead followed the echo that had wafted down the hallway. The moment I slid onto my chair, I was greeted by a camera, with a case made from black hammered metal. The lens had jutted out and two dials and a button poked out from the top. It had to be almost 100 years old. Next to it sat a photograph in the size of a polaroid.
“Do you like it?”, my mum questioned. “I know it may be old. And not up to date with today’s high technology and everything. But, this had always been special in our family. My mother had given this to me when I was 18, and her mother when she was 18. So, I thought that it was finally time to pass it down to you”.
Words had left me and I stared at her in disbelief. I always thought that I was a forgotten child in my mother’s eyes.
“Let me take a picture of you. To commemorate this moment of you becoming a young woman”
Days passed, and soon weeks turned into months.
The picture was not quite familiar, not quite smiling. I wanted to let go of the past me and succumb to my reality. A person that wanted to hurt others. A person that wanted to escape from rigid captivity. A person that was already me.
The knife swiftly sliced deep enough to make my victim scream. Her skin was tearing into shreds as I twisted the blade in my hands. The satisfying sound of her cry was mixed with an agonizing roar. I smirked and pulled the blade out of my now deathly white victim/as the light left her eyes. I turned away and could see her in a pool of darkening blood as the sweet tang of blood tingled in my nostrils. I was surprised about how little effort it took. It was less trouble than peeling an orange.
I looked at myself in the reflection of the window. The creamy sheets of the silk dress slipped over my olive shoulders. I brushed a stray tendril behind my ear as my perfect curls of molten gold, cascaded in lustrous waves down my back. My perfectly shaped lips were lightly tinted red, and my soft, blue eyes framed my long, ebony lashes. I gripped my phone in my left hand, tapping my polished fingernails against the smooth screen.
“I’m coming. I’ll meet you downstairs.”