The next morning the sun began to rise; the gorgeous orange lighting up the horizon like a lit fire on a cold winter’s night. Marc opened his dark brown, almost black, eyes and looked around. He had fallen asleep under the tree. Marc looked and watched as the crows picked at the flesh, pulling it which caused the skin to move and stretch. Marc once again started to walk through the forest, looking for anything else to kill. Ever since his mother died, he’d been living alone in the forest that surrounded the town. He never knew his father so he couldn’t live with him and he had no other relatives. Marc was alone, though he didn’t care, he had a new target in mind. Or should he say targets.
Marc who was once a nice kid and a straight A student, but now he was twisted and deadly. Marc stopped and gazed at the early risers in the quiet and peaceful town. Yes, that was his new target. He wanted blood and death, and the people in the town would provide him with just that. Marc circled the town as if it was prey, but in truth it was. He noticed two ten year old children run into the forest, the perfect prey. Marc followed them quietly and stealthily. Once again in a flash, the two small boys fell to the ground, dead. Their bones broken and shattered, the skin rippled like those of ripples in a lake, blood covered their face, ground and trees and their eyes had no time to shut, before death took over. Marc looked into their now lifeless eyes as he cleaned the blood from his blade and face. He was satisfied. “Luka, Ricky!” a woman’s voice called. Marc turned around in time to see the woman come into sight, her eyes immediately showing fear and sadness. After all it was her sons who were the victims of Marc. The woman looked at Marc, staring into his eyes, at his face of nothing but pure evil. The woman forgot one thing however; never look a predator in the eye. Marc was now blood thirsty. The woman held Marcs gaze. That is until she turned and ran away. That was a big mistake. Marc took off running after her, the galloping footsteps of his feet closing in. It didn’t take long for him to catch up. Using his knife, he threw it and slashed the woman’s back, causing her to fall to the ground. Another swipe of his knife beheaded the woman. Her head rolled a bit before stopping on its side, her eyes reflecting the image of Marc. “Now you can join your sons,” Marc’s voice came coldly. Blood ran down his head and around his dark brown eyes. Marc made his way to the town and this time he went closer. He walked through the streets of the town, the people horrified at his appearance. Marc went forward and attacked the nearest person to him who happened to be an old man about sixty years old. The man was crippled and slow, even with his handy cane. Marc attacked, slicing the man with his knife over and over, not even bothering to stop when his neck severed from his shoulders. Finally Marc stopped, the man was covered in deep, bloody gashes, and his severed head still held his shocked expression, with wide eyes and an open mouth. The woman, men and children watched as Marc raised his head and faced them. His blonde hair and knife were stained in blood of his victims. His eyes were no longer dark brown, but crimson like the jewels from the fiery lands of Hell itself. Marc was intoxicated with the smell of blood and the feeling of death at his fingertips. Marc watched as the woman, men and children ran away, the mothers gripping their children tightly and leading them into their houses. Three men came out with their rifles loaded, but before they could even fire their guns, they all screamed in pain as their arms were ripped off of the men’s body. Their detached arms littered the ground and their blood splattered out of there arteries. Marc was thrilled at the sight, the sound of man’s bloodcurdling screams filled Marc’s ears like honey. Marc had grown stronger since his first kill, as if the Devil himself had given Marc more strength and power. Marc walked through the town attacking all those near him until the streets were covered in a blood river. Marc stopped and looked around. Some of the cars he had tipped were on fire and some of the houses he had attacked were also in flames. Marc was indeed stronger than before. This was the devils gift to him. One thing caught Marc’s attention. One single man with short dark hair stood with a shotgun in his hands, he was the only one left.