Here’s a little tale for you guys.

The woman stood in the middle of the field, rain pelting down hard on her short cropped hair. Hair now dripping wet, slicked, stuck to her beautiful pixie like face.

Her white lace dress stained, in places with blood, drops, splotches, and two large handprints.

She was looking straight ahead. Ignorant of the cold wetness that painfully pelted her. A large kitchen knife in her left hand, The water that touched it turned pink, mixing with the blood that covered it, despite the wetness around her.

The ground before her empty, no bodies, small traces of blood travelling in water from the knife, from the dress, from her hands, from her dark, matted, wet hair.

She stared, her eyes betraying nothing, no emotion, no feeling, no information, she betrayed nothing.

She was no more than a teenager. She was not more than eighteen and she was completely alone. On one near to help, no one close to see her plight.

The building close by was quiet and the muddy footprints from the building to where the young beautiful woman was stood completely motionless and void of any conscience, thought or feeling.

On the door jam of the buildings main entrance there was a bloody hand print and there was also a bloody footprint on the step. The smell of freshly shed blood mixing with the fresh smell of summer rain.

Suddenly the field was filled with an ear-piercing scream. A scream coming from deep within her tortured, painful soul.

Would she ever remember what happened?

That, my friends, is another story.   I know, I’m evil.

Hope you enjoyed.

Happy writing

Simone

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