Knife Play (Jeff The Killer)

II

"Part of being a Psychopath is an ability to dissociate from one reality and create another one, completely" - Zachary Quinto

I stare at him for a moment, tracing the bloody grin I had seen on everything paper in town recently. Since no one had actually seen the dreaded killer face to face, artists had to come to draw him with what little description that had from glimpses. They were pretty spot on with the 'smile', and considering it's what he's been leaving on all of his victims faces, people assumed it's what he too looked like.

My eyes begin to wander on their own accord, locking on his the moment that I see them. They're the kind of eyes which you can't stop looking at. The icy blue containments of them with specks of black dotted around, his pupils look undilated which gives him an even more intimidating stare. I can almost see the madness which remains in them, and yet, I don't feel scared. Which is strange.

My eyes move to his charcoal like hair. The rumour was that he had been burned alive, which would also explain his pasty, leathery skin. Others said he just bathed in a tub if bleach and the insanity led after that. But bleach doesn't make your hair look singed and burnt, which leads me to trust the 'getting burnt alive' theory more, though each are just as unlikely as the other. What surprises me is that his hair, as unwashed, greasy and burnt looking as it is, it still looks fairly healthy. Which is odd.

"Are you done?" Jeff snaps. I get rudely shaken out of my trance and scream, raising my hand and slapping him hard across the face. He drops me with a growl and I scramble to my feet, glancing at the knife he held in his hand before I take off running once again deeper into the woods

God I wish I had something to defend myself with

I hear Jeff running behind me, the footsteps themselves are almost silent, the only way I know is the branches cracking and leaves crunching behind me. I will my legs to run faster as my calves scream at me to stop, but I know if I do I'm dead meat. Literally. It wouldn't surprise me if he ate me. Well, I hope I taste like rotten bacon.

I suddenly spot something glinting at me from a few strides ahead, and as I get closer I realise it's a piece of glass.

Well, it's better than nothing.

I bend over as I run, grabbing the glass and clutching it with my right hand, it already piercing my skin in result of my tight grip. Blood leaks onto my palm, dripping out of the small creases and onto the ground and my clothes. I bite my lip as I glance down, expecting pain to be shooting through my arm but, it doesn't feel bad, it doesn't even hurt. It's almost a good feeling. No, that's completely stupid and irrational.

I'm just in some sort of shock.

In my thoughts my foot hits a tree branch and I trip, falling to the ground with a groan. The glass slips from my hand as my hand hits the floor along with the rest of me

"FUCK" I yell at the loss of my reassuring 'weapon' of 'choice'. I quickly move onto my back just as Jeff stops at my feet, grinning manically

"Haven't had a runner in a while" He states, balancing the top of his knife on his index finger for a moment "It'll make my killing you all the more satisfying" He chuckles and I glare at him

"Your balls are literally above my foot. I can crush you baby-maker again at anytime" I respond in a 'matter-of-fact' tone. Jeff glances down before shuffling to the side with a glare. I smirk and take this chance to swipe my foot under his. He stumbles and falls onto his back with a groan. I quickly jump up and leap onto him, straddling his hips. Grabbing his wrists I pin them above his head, snarling slightly as I look down at him.