[ WP ] The New Face of Terror

The dead yellow of the streetlamps echoed off the rain-drunk pavement. Under her umbrella, she was quietly walking home, a route she has taken a thousand times or more. I can see her from my bench. She is rather prettier than my usual customers, but that does n't bother me. He eyes swivel about, rightly suspicious of the darkness, but she does n't think to examine the light towards which she walks. Beneath the golden light of the street lamp, untended since its installation, I pull out my gun. With a resounding peal of private thunder, the bullet flies. The sky breaks as I tear life from her. Emily. That was her name, I remember as she falls, screaming. The knife draws such a sweet smile on her throat, and I kiss her on the mouth I made. I love them all, you know. All my prizes. Beautiful, ugly, cruel or kind, I love them, their sweet red lips so kissable~~against their defiled throats~~.
