Quiet Time

13/02/15
19:01
I feel someone's gaze boring two holes into my back, and slight a glance behind me. Nobody. I brush it off, continue walking down the high street. The sky is dimming as evening creeps it's way into the world, and a lone street light flickers on ahead of me. Small groups of teenagers and a few old ladies hurry past me, all intent on escaping the cold February air, to enter the much preferred environment of a warm house and roaring fire. I feel the eyes on me again, and look behind me furtively. Still nobody.

Gritting my teeth against the cold, I power on as it begins to drizzle. I must be tired, or overworked, to be convinced someone is watching me. I knew I should never have taken Janet's shift. She's such a b*tch...but I need the money. I can't let people keep screwing me over like this, taking advantage of my vulnerability. I resolve to give Janet a piece of my mind next time she shoves extra work onto me, and walk on with renewed optimism.

As I turn a corner, onto a quieter side street, I feel the eyes watching me again. I spin around, sure that somebody must be watching me. Frantically moving my head, I still can't see anyone. Shaking my head, I turn back around and have barely taken a step when I feel a finger brush down my spine. I let out a rather embarrassing squeal, and jump back around. No one. Hands shaking slightly, I decide it might be safer to get a cab home, and head back down the high street.

The air is even colder than before, and I get the feeling this drizzle might soon turn to the kind of sleet only Britain can do. I see the cab stop up ahead, and almost jog the last few steps to it. Im about to get in one, when a hand grips my shoulder, halting my hurried pace. I feel myself be slowly spun around, until my eyes meet those of a man, slight and built like a runner, warm brown eyes twinkling as he whispers, "Shh...it'll all be over soon." He never blinks once as he continues to hold my gaze, leading me back towards the high street.

Like a deer trapped in headlights, I can only stutter a response, "Wha-what will be over? Get off—"
He slams a hand over my mouth, eyes freezing over, losing their sparkle. "Did I not tell you to be quiet?" I nod, petrified. "Then shut up." He hisses, tilting his head, still unblinking. I look from side to side, but no one seems to be reacting to my assault. There is no sound from the outside world, as if a thick blanket had been put between me and them. He removes his hand, but I can only move my mouth, unable to form words. Panicking, I scream, popping my ears, but no sound comes out. I make a chaotic attempt to run, but, as if sensing what I would do, he grabs my arms and pulls me up against him, moving his lips to my ear and laughing quietly, "Don't run, darling. We haven't properly introduced ourselves yet."

Forcing me to face him, he smiles, his eyes thawing once again, "I'm Brian. You are...?"
"WHY WOULD I TELL YOU THAT!? LET ME GO! I'LL CALL THE F**KING POLICE ON YOU, YOU PSYCHO!" But again, my words are silenced before they leave my mouth.
"Moira. Nice to meet you, Moira. Now, if you would just shut up," At this, he digs his fingernails into my wrists and I wince, although no sound comes out, "We would get along wonderfully."

My mouth moves to ask how he knows my name, but instead my face crumples and I start crying. I'm going to die. This is when I die. I begin violently shaking and retch onto the floor. How has no one noticed this? They just walk past me as if I'm invisible, blatantly ignoring the fact I am in clear distress. I'm going to die with people walking past me, unaware of my pleas. My breathing becomes faster, my heart races. I tremble as adrenaline rushes through me, and make another lunge away, but Brian grabs me around the waist and stops me. He forces me to the ground, holding me down with hands around my throat.

I kick feebly as my airways are cut off. He grins manically, pressing his nose to mine. "I don't like people who don't listen, Moira, okay? Listen next time." He releases my neck, but places his knees either side of me, keeping me pinned to the ground. "Don't worry... you'll be beautiful soon. I'm a wonderful artist..." He pulls a small penknife from his pocket and flips it open. I scream, silently, praying that someone, anyone, will hear me, but the silver blade draws nearer and nearer to my face regardless. I twitch away, and Brian grabs my jaw, crushing it in his hand. "Stay still, you hear me?" Any note of kindness has gone from his voice and he bears down on me, brow furrowed in intense concentration. I grit my teeth to stop my tears, determined to die with dignity.

The cool metal touches my skin, tracing over the lines of my brow and cheekbones. A tiny drop of blood runs from my brow to my eye, before dribbling down my cheek. Brian brings the knife back to my brow, and carefully presses it into the skin, dragging it along the line of my eyebrow. I cry out in pain, as blood runs into my vision. He stabs again, along the other brow and I bite my tongue, tasting coppery blood. I spit the blood in my mouth feebly towards his face, but it dribbles down my chin instead, pooling below my neck.

He traces around my hairline meticulously, before carving around it like a child following a dot-to-dot. My screams of agony have been reduced to silent whimpers and tears are mixing with the blood on my face. His grip still crushes my jaw, but, out of the corner of my eye, I see people walking down the high street, seemingly oblivious to my torture. I scream for help, plead for it, even, but my words still do not make a sound. Brian moves onto my cheekbones, slicing through the thin skin with ease. How much blood have I lost? It must be quite a lot, because the world feels rather hazy.

I wail until my throat goes hoarse as yet another old lady passes me by. She walk onwards, oblivious. I meet my murderer's eyes, and croak desperately, "Why..?" Although I make no sound, he seems to hear me.
"Because you're very, very special, Moira. Very special indeed." He smiles benevolently, and begins tracing my lips lightly. He quickens his tracing, drawing blood, "More than you could ever understand..."
He stabs downwards, and I scream but I can't move my mouth because it hurts holy sh*t it hurts and every wound on my face burns and bleeds and surely this must be the end but I'm still here, watching the world go by as I am slowly murdered. My vision blurs as more blood wells in my eyes. Brian's face is going out of focus, the sky fizzing behind him.

He steps away, leaving me lying on the floor, face carved out and in a pool of blood. "Beautiful..."
I breathe my last words, can literally feel my heartbeat slowing, the final ba-dum echoing in my empty shell of a body. "Help..." A word, blown away on the breeze faster than paper. How sad...to have lived such a short, pathetic life, thrown to the side immediately and forgotten. Do we still exist if we're forgotten...? I sink into the soft blankness around me, feel my world fade and fade and fade and - dark.