Horror - Carmen part 1

No Mercy, no soul, no looking back

The dense, thick air sent a numbing chill throughout Carmen’s bony, chalky legs. They were dangling from the rigid metal tabletop, skimming the ground when she swayed them in a lullaby-ing, kicking motion. The cement flooring felt smooth and cold on her stubby, un manicured toes. A strong scent of mold and sweat filled the air, temporarily replacing the cool chill.  The walls were supposed to be plain white, but they seemed to appear gray of age, caused by engravements dully carved into them, telling stories of lost, psychotic souls. Above her hung a lamp-like fixture, dull in color and originality.  It lacked any brightness at all, due to the shattered remains of a light bulb jammed into the socket, probably from a struggle, preventing another from replacing it. The only light source came from a steel-barred window. It gave off an orange glow through out the cell, the sunset beckoning you to join the real world outside. A glare shined off the shiny, black surface.  Obviously a one way mirror: Don’t these people know that shows like CSI and Prison Break are publicly viewed?  She said to herself, as well as the eerie, vacant room suffocating her.  
                Her reflection mocked her. Her cold, bottomless eyes - so empty, emotionless, with a non-existent soul guiding them. Her straight, thin hair- a dull sea of darkness, more demonic and malevolent than hell itself. Her frozen, stone lips- colorless and fragile, as though a single breath spoken would cause them to crumble off her dry, pale skin.
                She sighed as she directed her gaze towards her bloodstained hands, accented by a pair of iron handcuffs around her wrists. They had once had an immense amount of power, her hands: The power of decision. Her heart sank, and even more emptiness replaced it, due to the loss of this power.  Holding a throat, and gradually stiffening your grasp. Holding the soul on a thread, one you control. The thickness, the strength. Deciding whether to snap it, removing a life from its existence- or to let it go, let it live with unfixable wounds, both mental and physical.
                The comforting, overwhelming power- Oh how she longed for it to return to her. The still air- the cold chill of a soul leaving its flesh prison. The warmth of scarlet blood running down from the tortured’s skin to hers. The tingling sensation of the goring, shaving, or even tearing of skin. The force that governed her body was almost pleasurable.
                Carmen’s hands shaked in excitement, craving a killing- to be drenched in blood once more. She put her wrist to her mouth, and put her sharp, upper-left canine to the flesh. She gently slit it, tasting the bitter warmness she had longed for.  She grinned at herself, as memories of this enjoyment flashed through her head like a light about to go out.
                The neighbors cat – a pathetic waste of flesh, and not worth living nor killing. She remembered snapping its bones, preventing it from moving. Then putting a razor to the skull, slicing it, repeatly. Jay… – her boyfriend at the time was her very first HUMAN kill, and one of her best. He trusted her, cared for her, - he loved her. It was the ultimate backstabbing, unfaithfulness possible.  She nailed him down to the ceiling, stripped him of his clothing, then his flesh, then his life. She truly tortured his body, as well as his heart. I taught him what it was like to be broken- broken hearted.
The kill that dragged her here was unlike the others – unplanned. The truth is, she was provoked. Many times her parent attempted to show her what it felt like to be killed, which every time they failed. She was Meant to kill, they couldn’t take that from her. She murdered them in the same room, at almost the exact same time. Technically, she only killed her mother – her father killed himself. He couldn’t stand to watch his lover suffer in torture from their own daughter. He was weak. She was actually extremely difficult to kill. She had the will of a – well- a mom. But a strong willpower cannot surpass madness. Pure, Evil Insanty. She shook out of her trace, and concentrated on what she was currently doing. She was in a now very dark room, with monitors and speakers. There was a dim window looking into the prison cell she had just been captive in.
She Laughed as security guards franticly reached for their F-12 pistols. “They are out. The bullets AND the phone lines.” She snickered, “You should know that these walls are soundproof by the way. And I have locked all the doors.” They cowered in fear, all those overweight cops. ,”there is only one option – and it’s MY OpTiOn!”
~ The Memoir of Carmen DeHorkin ~