Miss Angelina [✔]

[5] Eloquence

 I was far from having an unordinary upbringing. I had loving parents; sure, they may have wanted to force the homecoming queen, girl next door, perfect wife stereotypes onto me but doesn't every parent?

Privately, of course, I had always loved the idea of death and murder. I loved hearing the tall tales of men creeping around cities capturing anyone that took their fancy, toying and killing them. I loved watching the films and the television programmes depicting all of the gore and plot. I had grown affectionate of crime shows that I presume to set up for a promising career in covering up crimes.

When I was in my late teens, I had a steady but monotonous office job to fill up my time. It bored me to insanity. I may have spent a good amount of my time sitting in that rickety seat trying to plan the perfect life, a husband, a few children, perhaps a dog - but even then, I knew that would never settle well inside of me. I craved thrills, adventure, something more than the ordinary.

Like many killers, I had started small - of course, my first kill was my stone-cold fiancé and his toy, so nothing I had done was what you'd call monstrous. At first, I had taken an interest in slashing up meat, which occurred more and more frequently, moving onto bigger things, eventually leading up to actual mannequins. Of course, I'd only practised my knife techniques on those.

I suppose rejection and heartbreak just pushed me over an edge. I wouldn't say that it was the only thing that had caused me to kill. I would not give the man credit by saying he was the pure cause - he was just a catalyst.

I had figured a long time ago that I loved being dominant in every single situation. There's just something oddly pleasing about hearing someone beg you for their life. "Pp-please...." they would always say, trembling, tripping over their words with such fear and innocence in their voice. Then when their killer shows no signs of changing their mind from the first plea they'd always move on to "Please, don't kill me." with more confidence in their voice of course, but still fear-drenched.

I can't say it's pathetic really, everyone's first reaction to death is to fight it, but the first way, the sympathy vote. Why on earth do people think that's going to work? Then again... conceivably it's just me, perhaps begging just happens to entice me. There could be a chance it works for other people with knives in their hands - it just doesn't happen to be me.

There was just something about the resistance the body tries to accomplish before the knife goes into the flesh. I tried to explain this to Luke and Florence. Neither seems to understand. Although I could understand Florence, she is still naïve, pure, understanding of human flaw. Of course, she has an animal inside of her like most of humankind; I just don't think she's ready to unlock the cage.

Though, Luke, he is a completely different story. I think he just enjoys hearing the final breath of a girl before it hitches, and she falls amongst the covers and pillows of his bed. Then he just wipes the blood on the shirt he had worn that day - he was careless but, in a way that other people could hide for him. I believe when I had told him that I loved to kill, he had been terrified of me. He could not see the girl he grew up with - and by that, I do not mean the deranged girl I had hidden - but the doll playing, pageant winning beauty queen everyone had portrayed me to be.