The Smell of Blood

The Smell of Blood

            I sat in the shadows of the alleyway, feeling nervous, yet a strange sense of calm had over taken me. After the first time, I had never felt so alive after that. For days I was happy as could  be. But then I fell back into paranoia and depression, so I knew I had to do it again.

            I waited in the darkness as people passed by, waiting for my opportunity to strike. Finally, a girl no older than sixteen passed by alone. I waited for her to pass, then exited the alleyway. I took the rag out of my pocket, drenched in chloroform, and put it over her face. I felt her slump in my arms, and I dragged her into the alleyway.

            I took her all the way to the back, and got down to business. Again I felt that feeling, that feeling that I knew was wrong but felt so right. I felt alive, I felt amazing, I felt better than I had my entire life. And as I saw the light leave her eyes, I knew that it was done.

            I dragged her to my car I had waiting, and put her in the trunk. I drove away, down to the bridge. Nobody ever went here, so I knew that it was safe. I took her out, and threw her over. I then stripped out of my clothes, took out gasoline, and drenched them. I lit the match, then changed into new clothes.

            I felt a rush while doing it, I felt alive while doing it, and I felt amazing while doing it. But after a few days, the feeling subsided. I needed to experience it again, I needed to feel alive, and I needed to smell the smell of blood.