So they say black cats are meant to bring bad luck. But that's not entirely true. In fact, in this story, I'll explain how it's the innocent that do the worst damage. This is a story of a pure white cat with one blue eye and one green eye. This cat was an accomplice to murder. Let me explain this as a story...

Blood dripped rhythmically from the cats jaws as it gazed sinisterly at the human corpse beneath it's paws. The crimson blood pooled out from claw marks and stab wounds that protruded from all around the victim.
The cat's master bent down to scratch it behind the ear for a job well done. But the cat paid no attention as it tried to wrap it's head around what it had just done. The cat didn't know why it did it, or why it's master did it too. The cat didn't know if it was good, or if it was bad, but it didn't matter. The cat enjoyed it. And it wanted to do it again.

What it didn't know, was that it's wish would be granted...very soon...

Master never usually took the cat with him when he went out. The cat with no name. Better to have no identity when you're a cold-blooded killer than to have to hide one. But today was different. Tonight was different. Tonight was the end of the month, and annually, at the end of each month, that meant that they were going to do a scourge.

Now a scourge, to them, is like a purge. But they don't do it to release anger, and they don't do it just once a year. They do it because they enjoy it. They enjoy causing pain and hearing them scream in agony. They enjoy coating themselves in blood and watching their victim's eye's lose the very last sign of life.

Tonight was scourge night...

Master and the cat skimmed through the tenebrous black alleyways, lit up only occasionally and dimly by the small amount of streetlights. They had been out for a good few hours now, waiting for a wandering, isolated victim to launder around, unsuspecting. But all good things come to those who wait. And so wait they did. And so good things came to them.

A young man aged to be around his late teens and early twenties had come staggering, drunk, around the corner, right into the blade that master had been holding out. He gurgled as blood dribbled over his lips and pain etched into his face. Master removed the knife and struck the same spot again, and again, before tossing him to the cold, wet cement. Where the cat then leapt at him, clawing furiously at his face. The cat knew his role well; disfigure the face, let no one recognise them. And so that's exactly what the cat did. Slashing and slicing over and over and over at the eye's, the mouth, until the victim couldn't even be recognised as human.

The victim was dying, that much was true, and although he didn't cry out, he was very much in a fierce pain. His nails scrabbling at the ground and his rasping, hitched breath, as well as the twitching of his feet and the feeble rise and fall of his chest told them that.

The cat didn't like to end their lives, he preferred just to play a part in their death and then watch as his master ended it all. So that's how it happened as master dragged his blade slowly, agonisingly across the victim's wrists and throat. Using his left hand even though he was right-handed, just to have a less chance of being caught. The cat purred just as the victim's breathing ceased and didn't sound again.

The master called for the cat, and the cat jumped up and perched on his shoulder. They took one final, proud glance at their work and strode off, simply waiting for next month.

Sorry it's so morbid, and it ended kinda badly, but I didn't know how to end it. Anyways, thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate it!! =^.^=