Hey guys :D
This is a very short story and yet another English assignment. But, please enjoy regardless :)
*****
I stood at one end of the dusty old hall, the smell of blood fresh on my nose. It was dark, the only source of light was flickering weakly above me. There was no furniture here, this house had been emptied of that luxury a long time ago. There was a dirty, sick feel that hung like fumes in the air.
Old wooden doors, abandoned long ago by termites, were dotted along the hallway. But attempts to open them were unnecessary, because every room was the same, dirty, cold and empty. Just like me.
I held the bloody knife in my right hand, which was covered in dirt, bruises and blood that was not mine. I didn't care for my appearance, my knotted brown hair matted with blood, my cold, pale skin covered in cuts, my blue dress that hung in rags, reaching my knees.
A shadow flashed across my vision, though I did not call out. There was no need. I already knew someone waited for me at the other end of the hallway, though it was seemingly empty and lifeless. The light above me flickered once more before it finally died its cold and lonely death and bathed me in the darkness of its absence. But I did not mind, I found that my most shining moments always glowed in the darkness.
Footsteps echoed on the opposite end, making my thin, dry lips pull into a wide and excited smile. And, with great ease, I made my way across the hall to do what was eerily familiar to me.
Kill.
