A Murder of Doves =-bootz-=

Helen was the first to go.

I crept up behind her chair as she read Chaucer at her desk. Slowly, silently, sliding across each of the floorboards, almost as if balancing on a razors edge I was wary of every movement. Quickly and precisely I stood behind her. Her blonde hair lay at her shoulders. I reached my hand out and gently swept a strand on the left side. Her hand waved it away like she was shooing a fly, not paying no notice to me.

I smiled and clutched the blade tightly in my hand. Arcane, the obsidian dagger's twisted handle and rigid bade had become an extension of my arm since I had first decided upon the victims. Listening to their phonecalls, learning which girls were staying at the Sorority for the holidays, locating their rooms, watching them sleep, and sometimes when I couldn't help it any longer, I would stalk them in their house. It was such a pleasure going unnoticed by some thirty girls as I followed one of them.

Helen grew restless. I knew she could feel the presences of someone else in the room. I had to be quick and silent. I lashed out and smashed the back of her head into the book, which muffled the sound. Her nose cracked and she sat up bleeding. She couldn't talk with a broken nose which made it easier to stab her with. Once. In the heart.

I watched her for a minute. Her head lay back over the edge of the chair staring at the shut doorway. Nose flattened and pulpy. Her white sweater with a gaping red hole.

I turned and exited the room back through the main hall. A girl was coming up the stairs. Another blonde, but she was shorter and a little chubby.

Jenna Prince. I remembered listening to one of her phone calls with her boyfriend in jail. For murder no less. Recalling te irony nearly made me laugh, but I couldnt. I slid back into Helen's room and waited for Jenna to walk past. There was nothing in Jenna that made her worth choosing, just that she happened to be there. So I made death on her simple. I ran at her, grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around. She gasped as I jammed the knife into her chest, and twisted it violently. She became limp hanging from the blade and as I removed it her body slid carelessly to the floor.

Heading down the stairs I saw the last girl. Kristen Connor was the reason I had chose the old sorority house. She never had a boyfriend, didn't smoke or drink. The definition of purity. I approached her without the stealth I had with Helen or the ferocity with Jenna. Rather, with affection. She turned around and saw me. She looked curiously I emerged from the shadow into the light of the fireplace, but then she understood.

There was no use denying she realized.

No use in running.

She cast her chest forward and let me take her life. She fell to the floor and with her dying breaths rubbed my face with her warm hands. THen she fell lifelessly to the floor.

I made my exit, glad to know someone else understood who I was. I knocked the old Psychology book to the floor and left the back door ajar. I got in my old Nisan and drove away, smashing into the maple tree and killing myself wasn't part of the plan but it became that way. And no one ever knew.

bootz

It's up for interpritation, but the point is some things go without understanding. There is some symbolism, hints at cult activities, but the real pointof the story is sometimes tyrannical things happen and we never understand why. I hope you enjoyed it. =-bootz-=

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