Acrylic. That’s what the sky was. Acrylic. The clouds danced
in and out of one another in rivulets of thick sunset tones. He imagined what
the clouds would taste like at this moment. Marshmallows. Fruit salad. As he
inhaled gradually, savouring the aroma of the forest, he felt the caress of
pine scents and damp soil. It felt of nature.
He was tugged violently from his vivid ponderings as the girl
said something. It was muffled, indistinct; he could hear it no more than he
could be bothered to try to. As she tried desperately to tear the gag with her
words, he looked down upon her. God-like. He was God, God to her at this moment
anyway. He had the power over her breathing, her blood flow. Everything was
his. He delicately brushed away pieces of bark stuck to her cheek, grazing her
warm flesh with the tip of his finger; leisurely tracing a line down to the
screaming pulse in her neck. In the years to come of his life, people would
wonder how rapidly his composure snapped and morphed into pure, sharp malice.
Only she, Lia, would have been able to tell you that it was like the attack of
a snake. Quick, unexplainable, vicious. That calm trailing of her neck mutated
into two fierce hands gripping her throat, his muscular thighs straddling her
torso; claiming complete authority over her final seconds. He felt his chest
rise and fall as hers slowed and her face reddened. Her last specks of life blew
from her chapped lips and he felt something he had never experienced, a penetrating and
searing feeling. Something with no word, no emotion to pin it to. It was just a
warmth.
That was the first time he killed.
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