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Her hair is dark and so are her eyes which are staring aimlessly out the window. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel, she’s restless. A frustrated sigh leaves her mouth as she fumbles with the seat belt . Taking it off , she puts her hands in her pockets, nothing there. She looks at the floor of the car and picks up what she’s looking for , a silver lighter. A cynical smile flit across her face as she saw the faded poetry on it’s metallic body. Turning back , she took a box of cigarettes from a jean pocket and lit it. Closing her eyes, she focused on the smoke in her throat and remembered her mother telling her “ When you focus on something with every cell in your body , everything disappears and you won’t feel anything”. 

The backseat of her car , where all the men she had slain laid, reminded her of them; Their sooty mouths and dishevelled hair stared her in the eye; all those men with their depressing poetry, their bodies reeking with hopelessness. 
“ they would’ve killed themselves anyways, I just helped them out ”.

All she wanted was to be loved and all she wanted was to be heard and all they did was talk about themselves as she watched their ego’s oozing through their pores , consuming her, choking her , reminding her that she was insignificant ; diligent but insignificant compared to him.

But she had known that all along , since she was a child when her mother placed a bottle of beer in front of her and said
“ Focus on that bottle and then you won’t feel anything”.
As soon as she set her eyes on it , she heard the crack of the belt against her back, felt the tears against her cheek and the foul smell of her mother’s laugh against her ears.

Putting the lighter back in his jean pocket , she drove to the river as she always did. Before she threw him out , she clutched his head against her body and wailed, wondering what he had ever done to deserve what she did to him and what she had done to deserve what they did to her. Dumping his body, she felt empty,the way she had on her mother’s funeral , the day her mother would thereon be the distant past. Yet, it was not to be so as she was cursed .

And as she prepared herself for her next victim she felt her mother’s blood coursing through her veins

a/n: it's October, here's a spooky one for you guys , tell me what you think. I was trying to write a piece where the protagonist is unreliable which is why she reveals things later on like a jean pocket  is actually someone's pocket,

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