Little Things-Zayn #onlyonedirection

Little Things-Zayn

*Little Things-Zayn*

I see things different. I see the little things. My doctor says I have OCD. I say I have a knack for numbers and repetition. Repetition soothes me. One. Two. Three. Four. Four times I twist the knife. One. Two. Three. Four. Four times I slice at his neck. Four is a good number. Four is a good number. Nice and even.

I began to like One Direction for the repetition. They are always repeating, repeating. I like that. It soothes me. Like the blood pooling around him. Calling the blood always soothes me.

What I didn't like about One Direction was their numbers. They had five members. Five is an odd number. Five is an odd number. I don't like odd numbers. I fixed that though. Now there will be four. One. Two. Three. Four. Four is a nice number. Even is good.

I looked at Zayn Malik, as he lay on the cold ground. I didn't like the ground. It's dirty. His blood will make it clean again. I started humming my new favorite song. "Little Things" by One Direction. My head was cocked as I thought of what little things I should keep. They are always talking about the little things. They would want to be apart of my collection. You see, I have a secret.

My secret is this. Calling the blood from others. It soothes. It soothes me. The anxiety isn't so bad. I can sleep. When the compulsions come upon me, I can't sleep. I have to sleep exactly eight hours. It can't be seven and a half or eight and a half. Either four or eight. Eight is just four doubled. It's still good. Still even.

I had sent some stories to the band, to try to get them to see my side. They ignored me. When I approached Zayn, he called me a freak. I didn't like that. I didn't like that. I called the blood that night. Someone else. A stranger. I didn't like him. He was dirty. The blood cleaned him though. It always cleans them.

It was surprisingly easy to find him alone. I thought it would take more work. But there he was. Zayn. One. Two. Three. Four. Four steps to approach him as he vomited on the back wall of a bar. One. Jab him with the drugged hyperdemic. Two. Hold him up, pretending I was helping him to my car. Three, drive here. Four, call the blood. He never woke. It made me a little angry so I stabbed him in the chest. One. Two. Three. Four. Then I sliced his neck. One. Two. Three. Four. Four is a good number.

My humming stopped as an idea struck me from the song. I knew what little thing I would take. Bending down in the pool of his blood, I took swift action. One. Two. Three. Four. It needs more. One. Two. Three. Four. See? Four is a good number. Now I have my little thing. Soon I will have little things from them all. Then they will be my little things forever.

Your hand fits in mine

Like its made just for me

But bear this in mind

It was meant to be

And I'm joining up the dots

With the freckles on your cheeks

And it all makes sense to me

{This is in no way a threat to Zayn Malik or any of the band One Direction. This is a horror contest piece for Halloween. Complete fiction. My horror take on the fanfiction phenomena. Though it was fun to write. Why lie?}