It's time to wrap this story up, folks. But feel free to challenge me. In fact, I encourage it. Go to my profile and see the challenge rules, and you're all set!
There are 666 words in every chapter.
There's nobody in the building. It's second period, and everybody's in the academic buildings. We're supposed to be in class right now. We're not.
He's tied up to his bed, tears stroking down his face. God. He's fucking gorgeous. Beautiful.
I don't do blindfolds or gags or anything. I want him to see it. See what I'm doing.
Fucking hell. He's tight. His screams echo through the building, and I can only smile down at him as he thrashes and writhes underneath me.
He's beautiful.
His screams are pretty.
He bleeds, his body hot and tight and wet around me, and my smile stretches to epic proportions as I watch it darken the sheets.
It's beautiful.
If this is hell, please let me stay here.
I find my orgasm inside him, and I whisper his name into the crook of his neck as I come.
I pull out then, stare at him. He looks at me, a silent plea in his ebony eyes, a silent plea to stop.
I look down at the bloody sheets.
And I frown.
Somehow, it's not beautiful anymore. It's not gorgeous.
He's broken.
I hate broken toys.
I take his limp body - it's good. He's not trying to resist any more - and carry him gently down the hallway. I make sure no blood hits the floor, make sure that we don't leave a trail.
At the end of the hall, I stop and stare at the doorway. His sobs of pain intensify now. From fear.
Slinging him over one shoulder, the blood staining my clothes, I turn the knob. To my surprise, it opens.
As I suspected, there's nothing in here. It's just a closet.
An empty closet.
Nobody enters, and nobody exits.
But from today, the population of the closet shall be one.
It's almost as if he doesn't even have any energy left to scream.
But that's okay. He'll be dead silent in a few more minutes anyway.
I cut and mar his perfect flesh with a kitchen knife, the same one I used to cut up vegetables a few nights ago.
I make sure to leave his face intact. Gotta have a pretty face, after all.
A smile graces my face, and then I lean down, poise the tip of the knife over his heart, and smile at him.
Then I shove down.
He is gone.
I return to my room, the room that is now mine and mine alone.
I leave my bloody clothes on. I'll get caught anyway.
Hopefully if I'm lucky, I'll get a formal execution in the gas chamber.
Besides, Byakuya's body will be found eventually, whether it's by some curious kid opening the door to see if it's a good place to jack off in, or whether it's by the decaying smell that his body will give off in a few weeks.
My name is Renji Abarai. I'm a murderer.
I'm living in a nightmare. Dreaming of a nightmare.
And I can't wake up. No matter what I do, what I feel.
No matter how horrible the deed is, I will not wake from this nightmare.
There's a dog barking outside in the spring afternoon. Funny. It sounds like a Yorkie.