Creative Writing: Serial Killers

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The voice boomed through the garage followed by a deafening silence.
“Shit” I scream out aloud thinking about what I have done.
The red blood on the dull grey-tiled floor hits me in the eye where the little reflection of the overhead lamp can be seen. The only question on my mind: what will I do next? I knew I should have refused to meet him. I should have said no. All along I knew something disastrous would happen. I had that feeling you know, the speculative feeling you get when you know something will happen, something life changing but you just go ahead and after “that” happens you just feel foolish.
That’s exactly how I felt right now. Dumb. Glancing at the dead body beside me, realisation hits me and I worriedly start to think about …show more content…

The attic or under the bed are the only options coming to my head. Well you just cannot expect something better; it is not like I am some serial killer who is well versed with all of this.
Thinking harder, an idea pops in my mind. What if I make it look like a suicide case?
Suddenly my phone rings giving me a mini heart attack.
“What do you want Elliot?” I scream through the phone.
“I just thought catching up with my sister would be good. Well anyways what are you doing? I went to your place and you weren’t there. Everything okay?” his voice softens. Why was I so mean to him anyways? Oh right the dead body!
“Yeah everything’s fine; I am just at the library for some research work for college. Are you free tonight? We could meet for dinner at Le Gavroche”
“Perfect. Dinner at 7?” glancing at my watch I realise it’s already 4.
“Yeah. Okay, bye”
“Sayonara” he exclaims. Taking a trip down memory lane I realise how much has changed since the divorce; the time when Elliot and I used to google everything for our Spanish class or maybe our Christmas dinner. It was this man who’s dead in front of me who changed all of it. It’s him who came in and ruined it; ruined his brother’s …show more content…

I hope no one come to visit him. Not my mum at least. Exiting from the backyard I decide to drive back home and start getting ready for dinner.
Two hours later I am ready for dinner. Glancing at my watch I realise its six fifteen already. I’ll be able to make it in time if I leave right now. Applying my gloss I reach for my car keys and leave. Driving through the city I realise how utterly beautiful my hometown is and how gorgeous the London Eye looks at night. Maybe I should go out more often.
Parking my car on the street I enter the fancy French restaurant, my eyes searching for Elliot. Spotting him I walk towards the table embracing him in a hug before sitting on the chair empty for me.
“How have things been for you after the divorce?” he asks breaking the silence. That’s not what I was looking for after I murdered my mum’s

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