manwithnoface
I retract my whip-like arms and get ready to strike the boy; ah yes, I am good. He won't stand a chance. I giggle and then strike!
| manwithnoface My arms begin to transform; they slowly ooze into oily-whips. His face distorts into an expression of pure insanity. The boy is mine now. |
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| manwithnoface He screams. |
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| manwithnoface The boy falls back -- I think he's terrified of me. I play with his emotions, and I tell him that it was a pleasure to watch Karen die. |
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| manwithnoface I assume that horror I see in his eyes is a result from realizing I have no face. I smile. This will be a lot more fun than I thought. Good. |
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| manwithnoface The whispers giggle with me. I ask them to stop, and silence follows. Then I step forward into the light and watch his face twist in horror. |
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| manwithnoface He steps outside, and I walk into the middle of the street - not into the light, though. I want him to be in suspense. He does look scared. |
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| manwithnoface A few minutes have past, and I see motion at his window. This is fun. I think he may come out tonight to see who's been following him. Nice. |
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| manwithnoface I watch him go inside his house, and I wait. Ah yes. The whispers tell me their excitement; they still remember Karen. This makes me giggle. |
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| manwithnoface It's been a week now. One week of building his paranoia, adding to the anxiety felt from the death of his girlfriend. Tonight - I will act. |
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| manwithnoface I follow him to his house, giggling all the way as I watch his fear grow. He senses me. Soon, I shall show myself -- and death. |
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| manwithnoface I purposely step on the pavement hard enough for him to hear my footfalls. Of course, I don't allow him to see me; not yet. I simply follow. |
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| manwithnoface The whispers grow in anticipation -- it's their lust. And I wait patiently. Oh yes. This'll be fun. He doesn't even know what he is, yet. |
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| manwithnoface It's abnormally dark tonight; this is how I like it. And I am following him home from work again. Of course, he has no idea. The poor soul. |
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| manwithnoface My story begins with a whisper -- not a twitter. |
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