A Decade Short: Stories

Sandy waited in the middle of a field, I had told her to wait there, she was none to the wiser.  Soon she will be dead, and it will be I who commited the deed.  The rights to her death will be mine.  I will be called the Butcher, and I will be published and recorded for being the best serial killer there was.  Yes, soon.  I arched my cross bow and I aimed for her stupid little head.  I had practiced on apples. Because I knew her head to be stupid and small.  I could hit 4 out of 5 apples on a bad practice. I was feeling very confident that I could hit her stupid little apple head now. It would crack in two like the apple.  It would splatter across the grass and she would be dead. Sandy told me she liked me and that she wanted to kiss me. But I don't even think she's pretty. She's too skinny and there's too much fat on her neck and she's just plain ugly.  So that's why I let go of the arrow and I shot her stupid apple head in two.  Stupid...

  She stood in her parker jacket waiting for a train to get back home. The wind was fierce, forcing the bristles on her hood to dance wildly. I stood with my hands clenching in my pockets desperate for warmth, my jacket three sizes too small and the wind managing to find a way to blow up inside. I could barely speak. ‘It was Tom’s fault really.’ Her lips were blue underneath her peach lipstick. They seemed to feature more in the cold than they normally did. ‘He was always showing off, ever since he got a car. Stupid bastard killed himself if you ask me.’ ‘Didn’t he die later?’ I asked. I had already heard half the story. ‘Sure, sure. Hanged himself, couldn’t deal with the ‘guilt’.  We both moved our eyes towards the rails. One passenger had thought he heard the train which caused a chain reaction of on-lookers.   ‘Because of Cat?’ I said.  Cat was the girl in his passenger seat who had flown through his window.   ‘Yeah but I don’t think he killed himself because...