Cold.

Cold.

          So cold.

          Winter flurries wink in the fading sunlight like little fairies dancing on the wind, fluttering elegantly through the air. An eerie silence blankets me in its warm embrace, wrapping skeletal fingers around my body and cloaking me beneath its hooked wings. A tangle of forest trees surround me, branches twisted in death as the winter air steals their life away.

          Such beauty.

          The bitter taste of iron coats my tongue and sharp pangs of pain shoot through my mouth each time I bite into my cheek. Crimson red liquid drips from the corners of my lips, dressing the snowy ground with its salient presence. A soul sucking numbness weighs heavily on my chest; one that dulls the colors of the earth and muffles the noises of the forest.

          Fingers, cold and lifeless, cling to the snowy ground. Empty brown eyes stare at nothing and raven black curls frame an oval shaped face, dripping wet and crystallizing from the cold. Pale lips part in the beginnings of a scream; or maybe an ill-fated attempt to breathe.

          A work of art.

          Carefully crafted, painstakingly posed, and elegantly frozen in time forever.

           A meticulously made masterpiece.

A fluffy brown coat clinging to her child-sized frame and dark blue jeans, soaked through with water. Missing one tennis shoe; most likely lost in the scuffle. Legs bent off to the side and head tilted ever so slightly to the left, showing off a ring of purple-ish marks along her dainty throat. A silver diamond encrusted locket lay against her neck; the chain broken and smeared with blood.

I reach out with one shaking hand, drawing my bloodied fingers over the smooth surface and giggling giddily. The necklace tumbles free from the girl's soft neck, glistening in the shades of a cotton candy sunset.

It was mine now.

One pale hand is thrown off to the side, palm facing upward with fingers slightly curled and exposing the chipped, pink nail polish. The edges of her white toothed smile; visible through the gap of her pale, white lips.

Such innocence in death.

Suddenly the world shifts violently on its side and a baby blue sky darkens. The creamy yellow sun shifts into a crimson colored heart scarred by the blade of a bayonet; dripping like an overflowing sink. A swirling face emerges through the grotesquely mesmerizing image; bright green eyes and curly blonde hair. Jordan.

"Look what you've done!" A shrill voice yells, the dead girl's face swimming past my vision. "Murderer! Look what you've done! He'll lock you up for this!" She cries and falls to her knees, grasping futilely at her throat and gasping for air. The life seeps out of her and the red in her cheeks fades away, eyes glazing over like a foggy window.

"Why?"  She whispers as she takes her last breath. I blink and she's gone as if she never existed.

Why?

That simple, yet complex question bounces around in my skull like a boomerang with no direction. Why was she dead? Why had I done it? Why?

Why?

          "Because you like it. The thrill, the kill; its fun." He answers, those viridian green eyes piercing through me like a spear. I inhale sharply, my heart beat thumping madly in my ears. A slow, deranged smile stretches across my face, the scratch marks along my cheeks burning brilliantly. I giggle, welcoming the pain with open arms and biting down hard on my tongue.

          The kill.

          Killing.

          It was addictive.

          The blood, pain, and adrenaline rush push me on, drive me crazy with anticipation. The excitement, hunt, and kill – watching their last breath leave their still lips – quenches the growing bloodlust within me. The pride, joy, and delight with my artistic creations fill me with such frenzied elation that I can't wait to do it again.

"Yes." I whisper into the still, quiet forest, feeling a fierce yet gentle breeze swish the mangled blonde curls atop my head. I sigh and grasp ahold of the still fingers resting on my leg, placing it down on her waist. A dark and twisted noise erupts from my throat and I lurch backwards, staring in awe and wonder at my finished painting.

An angel.

An angel massacred in darkness.

Cold and alone, with no one to hear her scream. No one to rescue her from death's dark hold. It was perfect.

I jump on my tiptoes, burying my feet into the snow and feeling the icy chill bite into my skin. It sends a thrilling shiver down my spine, igniting a path of fiery ecstasy throughout my body.

Cold.

Cold.

So cold.

I catch a glint of something sparkly from the corner of my eye and jerk toward it, stumbling numbly through the snow like a frenzied zombie.

A knife.

A very sharp knife.

The blade glistens in the last rays of the fading sun as it dips behind the trees and I grasp the handle tightly in my fingers.

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.

Ring-a-round the ro –

"Nevaeh! Bella! Where are you?" A deep, guttural voice calls. I jerk, the tune getting stuck in my throat and head snapping in every direction.

"Here he comes!" The voices chime, their laughter resonating through my skull. "Here he comes! Here he comes!" They taunt excitedly and scurry about impatiently, hands grasping at me as if to push me forward.

Push me toward the kill.