Ordinary World

Chapter 1

-o-

Already Over

Everything fell apart for me the warm summer night that I entered her bedroom. This despite my haunting paranoia that forced me to push my plotting and planning to the most profane peak of nit-picky detail. I can imagine how silly I must have looked then, standing there on the regal blue carpet trying to control my heavy breathing. When I forced it quiet I began to tremble and I flexed about every muscle I could control to find my cool. So after everything I had gone through to make it inside unseen and to set up a believable alibi I spent several valuable minutes switching between shaking and letting out loud raspy breaths.

My jumpy behavior was not the silly part I mentioned – I can bet that the feverish glint in my eyes would take the humor away from it had anyone seen it. Now imagine this panting creature, pale as a ghost and with large beads of sweat rolling down its face in the middle of the night standing in a dark room. Messy hair, wearing one of those "old-time" night shirts, naked legs and thick black socks (bare feet stick to the floor and are much too loud), bright turquoise dish washing gloves, a fabric bag in the left hand and in the cramped grip of the right one a long glamorous white scarf of the finest quality (I had combed the whole city to find the perfect one especially for tonight).

My eyes would not leave her while I calmed myself. She had allowed the blanket to slide down and reveal the silky white nightgown she was wearing. I took a step closer and her pointy ears twitched. I froze. I had snuck in here before, I had casually asked questions to those close to her, all to find out everything about her sleeping habits. She would for sure be in deep sleep by now. I walked all the way up to the bed and let the scarf, light as a feather, drop down on top of her.

Now I better handle my work like the pro I saw myself as rather than the amateur that I was. I pulled out the rope from the bag and gently lifted her left arm to the bedpost. After closely watching her sleeping face – she had the most gorgeous lustrous skin – I grabbed her right wrist and crossed it over her left one. If I tied it too painfully she might wake up and I wanted to avoid that at any cost, but a part of me also wanted there to be left marks of what would transpire tonight. I went down the safe road and put my finishing touch on my work by slowly and ever so gently lowering the silvery duct tape over her lips. I felt their softness press against my fingers when I stroked the surface to make sure it was in place.

The whole time I had been bending over her from the side of her bed. Now came the moment I had been waiting for. I crawled onto the bed while feeling as if I might flinch if I so only weighted down the mattress more than what I had anticipated. A rush of satisfaction came over me as I successfully straddled her, still careful not to disturb her sleep in any way. In spite of my many precautions I feared for those eyes to open and stare into mine. This woman possessed magical powers. Myself, I had never showcased any talent for it and thus I did not know much about it (which was a disadvantage for this situation). Of what I had been able to figure out I was quite sure that she needed to be able to move her arms to control its flow – and I had taken care of that – but what if she could still produce a blast or something else that would wake up the other inhabitants of the house? No, she better sleep through it all.

One of my palms slid underneath the scarf and I moved my hand in a circling motion that wrapped the smooth scarf around it. I threaded, like through the eye of a needle, the other end through the space between her tender neck and the fluffy pillow. I loosely tossed it across her and did the same thing a second time before I wrapped the end securely around my free hand.

I felt that I had to savour the moment. Her bosom was rising and falling. Her peaceful countenance under the tied up arms and the duct tape gave me the image of an innocent lamb about to be sacrificed and slaughtered for a greater purpose. A white angel bowing down to fate. She was so alive and warm in this moment.

My hands began moving away from each other. The soft fabric glided around her neck and tightened the snare. I pulled hard. Her head jolted back and had it not been for the tape a choking sound would most likely have made it out. In my head I counted the seconds. I had tried to research my method of killing but had been unable to find out how prone bothersome victims were to wake up when the body found there was no blood reaching the brain. I relied solely on my knowledge that it would merely take seconds for her to fall unconscious and most likely she would not even realize what I was doing to her before she fell into the deepest of sleeps. I believe her eyes fluttered open but once I took a good look they were peacefully closed and her body was lying limp underneath me. Not with the relaxed motionlessness that can all of a sudden be broken by one curling up like a cat enjoying a cozy nap. There were no longer any slow rhythmic breaths that melted into the silence like a sweeping whisper.

I pulled harder on the scarf and eyed the ceiling for a while as I did so. Yes, I needed to make sure that I finished the job (using a soft scarf could backfire, I had prepared myself for that) but I also wanted to leave tracks. If I wanted to I could probably tighten the ropes around her wrists now but I dismissed the thought. Like this there was no sign that I had taken her life by force. She was still the martyr; the beautiful sacrificed angel. That was when I remembered the scissors. With a low grunt I bent over and reached for it on the floor.

I had already decided what to do with the corpse. My hands had become sweaty just thinking about what could happen if I drew a blank in this situation, was stressed, made a mistake, was delayed. Oh, the horror. Now that I was here I felt more inspired than ever before. What if I cut off a few limbs? Would that not be a sight? The head on a torso without arms or legs and red blotches of blood where they were missing? Or maybe leaving the head alone on the pillow would make a more powerful impression – if I opened her eyes? You see, this was the most important part. I felt nothing for this girl. We had talked a few times and I would even call her a sweet person. The one I wanted to hurt and damage was him and not her.

People always make a huge fuss about people dying, or death in general. As I do not care much myself I find this humanity... not fascinating but curious. I never get tired watching my true victims' reaction when someone dear to them is found dead. It is hard to explain – both about how strange their grief seems to me and my own lack of it.

I guess it started... not with a murder but with something as small as when I cut my finger. The wound was so tiny and pitiful it did not even cross over half of the width of my thumb. Yet the blood. Something so thin and watery and still so rich of color. The way it flowed I swear it covered my whole hand in seconds. At first I could only stare and watch how it behaved when I twisted and turned my hand to try and shed as little blood as possible. After some time I found that my hand was frozen stiff. It was reluctantly that I wrapped a handkerchief around my stubby finger to stop the bleeding. I realized that it was probably not as much blood as it looked like but I could not shake off the feeling of awe.

Killing was similar in a way. Life was short and made out to be so much more grandiose and important than it really was. What was a life in the greater context? What made a person irreplaceable? If I took the light out of someone's eyes its loved ones would wail and mourn and then they would live on the short time they had left and long before their time came the person I had taken would be forgotten. It made no difference. It was an amazing feeling to take a life and observe death in its most fresh and young moment. It was quite entertaining to watch the exaggerated effect of the ones left behind. So I was going to have a lot of fun now and create something that would not be so easily forgotten by the man I recently found I resented.

Should I cut her eyes out? Create trails of blood down her cheeks? I kept pondering. The man I was out for was absolutely smitten with this woman. I had watched them for days walking side by side and how they glowed with happiness whenever they were together. They were – sorry – had been the best of friends. They laughed, they confided in each other, they made sure to see each other every day. They were living their lives together, closer than family. If I took her I knew it would kill him that such a thing could have happened while they were sleeping under the same roof. He took for granted that his own silent promise to always keep her safe would never allow any harm to come to her and now it had happened right under his nose.

The love I had seen in his eyes, his expression, floated around in my memory and right there and then I thought about raping her dead body. Do not get me wrong. I was not attracted to her and I had not set out to do such a thing to begin with. In fact, I condemned such a foul crime but now she was dead. She was a dead shell and I could slice her up and do whatever I wished to her without caring in the least. He would care though. She was still warm and if I rubbed up against her I would probably be ready to go but to tell the truth I was not in the mood. I was not even in the mood to get in the mood. It might perhaps not take much longer than what I had in mind for her but it felt like such a hassle to go through with.

I released her hands and removed the duct tape. I reminded myself why I had bought such a beautiful scarf. I had already decided what kind of art I would create, which sight that would greet the witnesses. I laid down her arms, spread out from her body and took the ends of the scarf and did the same thing. Just one small thing now. I grabbed the scissors and stared down at her. Her hair spread out like sunbeams. A sea of shimmering golden locks. I started chopping them off unevenly and doing as sloppy of a work as I could. I picked up chunks of hair and threw them about to position them in a way that would create the picture I had in mind.

I shifted to get off her and again the thought of teasing that guy struck me. I eyed the scarf covering her neck and then I lowered myself over her. My lips ran over her skin, approaching the place where her heart should be, about the top part of her left breast. I pressed down, let my lips part and sucked. I took my time and it sounded like the end of an affectionate kiss when I stopped, but after one short inhalation I was at it again. My warm saliva heightened the pleasure. Even though I did not care for this woman I can admit that I would not give this treatment to just any victim. My tongue moved up and down, back and forth and round in circles while my lips stuck to her. I pulled back and admired my work. A hickey – a sign of possession – would surely drive him crazy and make his imagination run wild.

A soft golden glow lit up the flushed area on her pale skin. It truly was an amazing sight but I frowned, because I found it quite odd, the light I mean. It felt as if my heart stopped beating when my eyes landed on the back of my own hand. There was a pyramid of three golden triangles shining on it – the bottom left one shining brighter than the others. It shone through the glove I had put on. I rubbed it, tried to cover it, slammed my other fist down on it but it was still there. I could feel that I was sweating all over again. This used to be on her hand. This was proof of what I had done. I had to get rid of it. But how? I had to be there when they found her.

Murdering this woman would be my downfall?

(A/N)

Murder is not exactly what I would usually write but I have given death tries before (although this is fairly harmless in my opinion. I do not want an M-rating). This was more of a random short thing I wrote on a whim. I might look it over a bit more later (I have proof-read it but perhaps not as many times as I usually do and I cannot remember when I last made so few changes) and I plan on writing more chapters but I am quite confused about why I ended up writing it at all and I just hope I can get in the mood to finish it. The hints I threw in about who the murderer is are very, very vague and I would like to make it more obvious. I also want to write about Link's reaction to finding Zelda dead (uhm, yes, it was clear that she was the victim, right?). Maybe I should not forget about the overall plot and the beginning of all of this and where it will lead to? This is actually not the first death and because of this Zelda will show up safe and sound in later chapters. Quite sad that it will inevitably end this way for her.

I hope you enjoyed it (well, you know what I mean) and thank you for reading.