Jill

I pop the trunk, reach in, and toss the squirming bag to the ground.  I can hear her breathing inside, trying to scream against the gag.  I grab the sack and start dragging it down the dirt road, towards the old barn at the road’s end.

I throw the bag down hard and open it.  I pull the squirming teenager from it hard enough that I’m in danger of dislocating her fragile little shoulders.  She’s only thirteen, and dressed in a nightgown that’s still meant for children, displaying her favorite cartoon ponies proudly to the frigid barn.

I removed her gag and cut her bonds.  The revolver is now pointing at her.

Stop I don’t want to hear it

“Strip.”  I order.  My voice is forceful and strong.

“P-please, Mrs. Kinsella, p--please, I’ll--”

“I said strip!”  The revolver cuts across her face.  Teeth crunch with a satisfying noise with the blow.

please, I don’t want to remember

She looks up, shocked, blood pouring from her mouth.  She takes off the nightgown.

“P-please, don’t.”  She says.  “P-please, I’m sorry.”

Oh god, the little bitch thinks I’m going to rape her.  Why would I do that?  I don’t need to force myself on someone for control.  I am control.  And besides, why would I want to fuck someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing yet?

no

It’s only fun if it’s happening to the body I’m in.

“Lie down.”  I order.

no more please

She sniffles, and nods, and lies down.

I wonder, for a moment, if I should be merciful.

It’s a brief flight of fancy, but it’s a powerful thought.  This little girl lives or dies as I command.  I can have it quick, or I can have it slow.  It’s my call.  I am, in this moment, the God of Death, whole once more in my mandate.  Kill, free, or simply abandon to whatever fate she have in the middle of nowhere.  It’s my call.  My right to give or take as I see fit.

I tie each of her limbs to a post.  She’s sniffling.  I take out the knife again, and she starts screaming for help.  She’s begging me not to do it.  She’s screaming and crying and telling me I can do anything, please, don’t kill her.

stop PLEASE

For another brief moment, I wonder if I shouldn’t just abandon Lyndsay’s body.  Here’s a nice, fresh little morsel.  So young and  full of life.  So full of potential.  How much longer does Lyndsay actually have, anyway?

I make my first incision.

please, I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll just stop

She’s alive for longer than I had given her credit for.  I managed to get from her crotch halfway up her torso before she lost consciousness.  Maybe I should have taken her body instead.

That doesn’t stop me.  True to my word, I cut all the way to her throat.  She was dead before I quite made it there, but it’s the thought that counts.

I’m going to be sick

I’m bathing in the blood, now.  It’s sprayed over me, and I feel young.  I’m like Elizabeth Bathory, soaking in the blood of a virgin.  Drinking it in.  It sends a shiver down Lyndsay’s spine.  Our spine.  It’s so good to feel.  Feel that life slipping away.  All that lost potential.  She had her whole life ahead of her.  And I took it from her.

why

She hurt our little boy.