Fan Fiction ❯ Checkmate ❯ Blood ( Chapter 3 )

Blood is delicious. I can never get enough of it. My own blood, the blood of my victims, animal blood. I love blood as much as I love death. Possibly because blood is associated with death. My victims always bleed when I kill them. Or when I toy with them.

I've toyed with many of my victims. The more I kill, the more I learn. And I've learned that I can "play" with my victims. It's quite fun. Most likely because they can't so anything about it, because they're usually tied up, or held down by knives. And because sweet blood is gushing from they're wounds.

Though I have been fascinated with death since I was a teenager, I've always loved blood. Really, I think this is because I was a clumsy child. I was always tripping, and falling over something or other, and I'd usually scrape my knees or cut my finger. Something like that. And, of course, blood would always flow. One time, after a particularly bad fall, when I was home alone (my parents were neglectful my whole life. They only paid attention to me when they found out I was cutting myself), I decided to try to clean myself up. I couldn't find any rags, though, so I decided to lick up the blood.

Once the tangy blood touched my lips the first time, I knew I had to have more. I lapped up the blood until the wound stopped giving it. Delicious. I passed out soon after, though, since the wound was quite big, and deep. Blood flowed for awhile, and I drank it all. But, unfortunately, I was young, and my body couldn't react to the blood loss in any other way. So, I simply passed out.

My parents woke me up when they finally came home. My mother put a bandage on the wound, and sent me to bed, not even noticing the dark red blood smeared around my lips. Neglectful people. I hated them. I can't kill them, though. Why? Because I could never go back to my hometown without being noticed by one of my old "friends." I hate everyone there. They all thought I was crazy. And they put me into a hospital. But I can't kill them. I'd be discovered before anything could happen. So I simply hate them in my mind.

I've loved blood since that day. The day which I shall always cherish. After that happened, I began to drink my own blood on a regular basis. How did I do it? I clawed my skin raw, always drawing blood, picked at scabs from other times when I was clumsy, many different things. I didn't begin to cut myself until I was a teenager, though. I can't remember why I didn't start when I was younger. Maybe because my mother hid all of the knives. She didn't want me to touch them for some reason. Maybe it was because if I cut myself by accident, and almost bled to death, she'd be called a bad mother. God forbid. In her mind, she was never a bad mother. She gave me food, and bought me clothes, and that was enough. She never really cared, though.

So that's most likely the reason why I never knew what knives could do until I was older. Anyway, after drinking just my own blood for awhile, I discovered that animals have blood, too. I was a young child when I first started drinking my blood, so I didn't even know what exactly it was. But when I learned that animals have blood, I couldn't stop myself from trying it. I started with my family's pet rabbit. I snapped the little thing's neck clean in half. I felt so powerful.

The blood of the rabbit tasted different from my own blood. But, yet, I loved it as much as my own. I drank it so greedily. My father walked in as I was doing this, though, but he didn't even notice. All he did was pat me on the head, smiled down at me as I nibbled on the flesh of the rabbit, and left the room with a newspaper under his arm, which he picked up on his way in. He didn't even know what was going on. He wasn't smart.

When my mother discovered the rabbit's body, and it's head, which wasn't too far from the carcass, she screamed bloody murder. She really did. I could hear here all the way down the street, which was where I was at the time. I was trying to find some more animals. Unfortunately, I didn't have time, since my mother's screams interrupted me. I reluctantly went back to the house, and found my mother in the middle of the den, vomiting on her carpet. The carpet she loved more than me. She didn't notice me, as usual. She ran from the room, yelling for my father, and then ran back in, picking up the body of the rabbit, and gagging as she looked at the head.

We buried the rabbit not too long after this happened. My parents thought that a stray dog had come in, tore the rabbit apart, and left. Without a trace. They didn't even listen to me. I was in the background, yelling, "No, stupid! I killed Fluffy, I killed her! I drank her blood! You never notice me! It wasn't some stupid dog, it was me!" My shouts fell upon deaf ears, of course. They simply buried the rabbit, and when on with life, cleaning up the carpet and cage, which had blood and vomit on both of them. My parents sent me to my room, then, because they thought I was upset, and "needed time alone."

I didn't get a chance to find another animal that night, since my parents wouldn't let me leave my room. Idiots. Of course, the next day was free. But my search for more animals was unsuccessful. There didn't seem to be any animals anywhere in my neighborhood. Only dogs and cats, but my small hands couldn't hurt them, so I left them alone. There weren't any mice or wild rabbits, probably because of all of the cats that dominated the streets. So I went a day without blood. I didn't have the strength to claw myself that day, since I was out for hours, just searching. And I hadn't ate anything.

Finally, when I did catch an animal that I found in the streets, and drank its blood, I became sick. The little creature must have had some disease. So, I was stuck in bed for about a week, vomiting almost nonstop. I lost a lot of weight then. My parents didn't really care, of course. They only cared about the carpet in my room, which was made by one of my relatives, or something like that. They paid more attention to objects than they did to me. Mostly carpets, but my mother also had an obsession with tables. They were crazy.

It was awhile before I began to drink animal blood again. My family had gotten another pet, this time a mouse. Though I was scared of it for the longest time, since the blood of the other mouse had made me sick, I finally checked it over, and it seemed healthy enough. So, like the rabbit, I snapped its neck. After I drank its blood, I went around almost cautiously, afraid that I would become sick again. I never did fall ill from that mouse, though.

My mother found the mouse, dead in its cage, just like the rabbit. She didn't scream this time, though, since there was less blood in and around the cage. I had drank most of it, but, also, mice have less blood than rabbits, so it wasn't as big of a problem. The mouse was buried, also, and my parents sent me to my room again. They tried to rationalize about what animal had done this, and they finally just came up with a cat. It had snuck into our house, ate part of the mouse, and left, like the dog had with the rabbit. They were very good at coming up with excuses.

Many more pets were gotten, and I killed them all. Most of them were small creatures, since my mother didn't like cats, and my father was allergic to dogs. And other reasons. But I drank all of our pet's blood. And my parents always came up with excuses. It was so easy, since my parents were so dumb.

When I finally learned how to cut myself, I found that bringing out blood with a knife was much easier than clawing myself. Somehow I had become less clumsy as the years went on, so I no longer had any scabs to pick at and draw blood from. Since I cut myself a lot, I drank a lot of my blood, causing dizziness. I often passed out when I was alone, but I always woke up on my own, since my parents were around even less than when I was a child.

Then, of course, I was admitted to that hospital, and watched over by those hawks. My parents pretended to care, and so did my "friends." And, then, I left, starting my life over again. In a different place.

After I had moved there, and killed four people, I decided to try the blood of another human. I came up with this idea while I was stalking my fifth victim. The idea worked out well, since he was a man who enjoyed the company of women. Why does this matter? He liked being tied up. He always brought home a different woman each night. So, my plan changed from the original thoughts: I'd seduce him, he'd bring me back to his house, I'd tie him to his bed, and then cut him.

I colored my hair a different color, and put in colored contacts. I also darkened my skin. I did this so I would be unrecognizable, if anyone was questioned about his murder. It was the first time I actually went in public for a murder.

It was so easy to bring about my plans. I followed him to a club on the night I planned to kill him, waited outside for half and hour, then went inside, and found him easily. He was surrounded by other women, since he was considered good-looking, but I easily averted his attention. I was wearing something I'd never worn before. I wouldn't even call it a dress. More like two pieces of cloth held together by strings. One wrapped around my chest, and the other was like a skirt, only, in my opinion, was too short to be called anything other than a strip of cloth.

He then left all the women behind, and followed me for an hour before approaching. He then asked me back to his house, which I accepted. We drove back in his car, since I didn't bring mine with me. I had followed him on foot. I left my car three blocks from his house, parked in an alleyway.

Once we had arrived at him home, he immediately took me upstairs, and I tied him up, which he asked my to do. I began to take off the dress, but, before I reached the skirt, one of my knives was visible. He became scared at the sight of this, and began moving around, struggling to get free. I quickly pulled the knife from its place between my breasts, and waved it in his face, telling his to be quiet. He obeyed, and I continued to undress, revealing the three other knives hidden on my body. He was too scared to do anything.

I then began to cut off his clothes. I started with his socks, which, for some reason, he had left on, then moved to his pants, and finally cut off his shirt. He lay before me, naked. I began to cutting along his arm first, barely glancing at his body. The blood flowed out so quickly, and I began licking it up immediately. His blood tasted slightly different than mine. To this day, I don't know why that was.

I made more cuts on his body, so many that he was drained of blood quickly. He didn't pass out from the blood loss, though. He had a very strong will. But not strong enough to take the knife that I put through his heart. That killed him quickly. I finished the rest of the blood, put the "dress" back on, withdrew my knives from his body, and left my signature. "Checkmate." Before I did leave, though, I snapped a few pictures, a habit that began after my second victim.

Then, I went home, and loaded the pictured onto my computer, admiring them for hours before checking the news, and seeing the images of the man that I killed, censored, of course. I was very satisfied after all of the blood I had drank, so I didn't even drink any of my own that night. Now, of course, I drink many of my victim's blood, since I love it so much.

A/N: I had nothing better to do today, since I was stuck at home, so I just wrote another chapter. I like this one better than the previous one.

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