Faceless.

08-30-2010, 05:17 AM

I really hope you like this, I've been working on it for a while. Here's the Prologue, the rest is a bit long.

Quote:

Prologue - Stephan
She turned to me, and at that moment I knew it was over. Those empty eyes stared as I stood, shocked into stillness, that grin, fixed in place as the gun was raised to my forehead, right between the eyes, like every other death. I wasn’t the first, and I wouldn’t be the last, but in one thing I was different. I would haunt her every footstep, until that gun didn’t aim at a forehead but a temple, and she shot herself.

This is the story of my death.

I was Stephan Child. Before she shot me, that is. Now I’m just another lost soul, seeking some way to end their existence. There was nothing special about me. Until that one phone call.

The phone rang in the dead of the night. That’s the way it started with all her victims. I woke up, scared of what was to come. I knew I fit the “type”. All serial killers have a type. A certain type of person that they kill. For her it was pretty non-specific. Blondes. Not blonde females or blondes with green eyes. Just blondes. It made life very scary. Blonde hair dye stopped being produced after only her third kill. All other colours began to sell out. I didn’t dye my hair; I decided I would be lucky. Ha! See how that turned out.

When the phone rang, I wasn’t cocky any more. I had been marked for the kill. Now it was only a matter of time. Time, it’s a funny thing really. We don’t think about it much, until a deadline looms. Sometimes we feel we have all the time in the world. Sometimes we think that time is short, or that it flies, I’m surprised that nobody sees time as a flying midget superhero. I hadn’t had much time yet, time to live my life before it ended so abruptly. I was only twenty one. I had moved out of my parents place a year earlier, as soon as I could afford to. So there was nobody to find my body.

It all happened that night, April twenty seventh; I came home from my job at the local supermarket and went, as always, to my bedroom. She was sitting at my desk, facing away from me. All I could see of her was a tangle of red hair, and a white ribbon. It was then that she turned to me. Stared me down with that mask of happiness. The classic cliché. Two masks, one happy, one sad. One fixed in an eternal grin, one in an eternal sob. The face was blacker than midnight, the ribbon that held it in place, whiter than snow. When she raised that gun to me, my face became a mask of horror. When the gun was lowered it was replaced. With another mask. The eternal sob.

I still can’t explain it, but that night, not two hours after she left me, lying in a pool of my own blood. I sat up. It’s different when you’re a ghost, you realise that all the time in the world is exactly what you do have. So, naturally, I wasted some of it. I visited bedrooms, and bathrooms. I snuck in and out of private meetings, but one night, I was seen.

And that is where the story of my death truly begins.