[closed] [completed]
WHO: Shiba Reiichirou, Ren-Fah
WHAT: Psycho on the loose. Ren's death.
WHERE: Housing District. Somewhere.
WHEN: Last night.
It wasn't the first time he saw her. Shiba made several rounds to the housing district daily. Sometimes to deliver a pizza or two or nine from the pizzeria he was working at. Sometimes on his way home. Sometimes it was just to take a quick walk or a job around the area, checking out possible shortcuts that might help him in his job. And since she didn't seem the type to leave the house very often, he had managed to spot her several times over the past week or so since he had arrived in this strange place.
Her features were Asian. Not Japanese in particular though. Perhaps Chinese or Korean. Shiba honestly could not tell. Still, despite his lack of knowledge about her (or perhaps it was exactly due to his ignorance), she fascinated him. Who was she? What was she doing here? Who did she live with in that huge house of hers?
She reminded him of something he had read before in a novel by Bret Ellis. An American author.
When I see a pretty girl walking down the street I think two things. One part of me wants to take her out and talk to her and be real nice and sweet and treat her right.
What does the other part of him think?
What her head would look like on a stick.
Psychotic? The book was aptly titled then.
According to Robert D.Hare, "most criminals are not psychopaths. The psychopath's trademark is a lucid mind, with often clear-headed, cool, rational justification for their behavior. What jumps out of their justifications, however, is an unparalleled egocentrism, supported by a lack of empathy that most of us find foreign and frightening. Guilt is a foreign concept to the psychopath. Without it, the emotional leash has been severed. The presence of a potential victim is as tempting to the psychopath as is a drink to the alcoholic, a slot machine to a gambler, or a piece of chocolate to a young child."
How well did that apply to him, Shiba had no idea. He was never much for introspection. It bored him. Then again, didn't that same theorist list "proneness to boredom" in his checklist for psychopathy?
"Guess I am one then," the blond boy mused aloud and then chuckled, flinging his bag over a shoulder and homed his movements in the direction of the pizzeria.
That day was different. It was late. He was making his way back home as opposed to getting back to work. And she wasn't in her house the way she used to, looking at him curiously with those bird-like eyes of hers. Instead he found her in the streets closer to his place, lost and confused. Shiba chided his mind for reading too much into the situation and jogged up to her with a friendly smile, the sort he gave to old ladies at the train stations. She returned it shyly, with the sort of reservation belonging to someone unused to being treated nicely. She didn't seem abused however. Her clothes were reasonably comfortable and fitting, her complexion shone with the radiance of one in love and loved in return. Shiba allowed himself a brief consideration of who that lucky guy might be before asking her if she needed help.
It turned out that she did. She had gone out for groceries. It was getting dark and she made a wrong turn to find herself in an unfamiliar street that she just was not able to find her way out of. Not a surprise, really. Shiba answered sympathetically. He himself took a while to get used to this new place. And he also added agreeably that he understood her anxiety perfectly. Rivelata was not a safe place. Especially not for a girl. Especially not considering the recent surge of rather aggressive animals in the streets. He had, of course, left out that little bit of information about how he was the one responsible for it. Granted, Shiba was sure he hadn't killed that many animals and certainly not every one of those turned into a zombie. His powers were rather unstable in this place. But you know animals and how they like to bite. All sorts of nasty diseases could be spread through animal bites, he was sure.
Shiba smiled and offered to walk her back. He worked as a delivery boy, he explained. And even if he wasn't sure about the rest of the island, he knew the housing district like the back of his hands. Perhaps even better than that. Since Shiba hardly made it a habit of staring at his own hands much. He would leave that to someone else.
Some friendly smiles, and easy laughter later, she had finally lost a bit of that charming shyness and suspicion. Shiba noted the exact moment when her pretty little head stopped looking around the place, trying to memorize the winding route he took her on. The moment when she stopped darting nervous glances at him. His body language was casual. Not a hint of tension at all. Not even the moment when they walked out of the light of a street lamp and he pushed his weapon -a knife with a serrated blade- into her. She gasped, shuddered, her small heart beating fast and hard, trying to keep the body alive. And then finally died.
The shadows cast on her face was a beautiful sight indeed.
One might ask if he had anything against her. Shiba frowned and squatted by her body, thinking hard. Was it the way she carried herself? Her voice? Her eyes? Was there anything about her that didn't sit right with him? Eyebrows furrowed almost childishly in consideration. His mind came up with a grand total of... nothing. He just felt like it.
Still he waited. An hour. and then two. The streets of Rivelata at night were surprisingly silent. In that two hours that he had sat there in the street corner, nobody came by. Not even a stray cat. Impressive, Shiba thought vaguely, only giving way to a small hint of disappointment when she did not return to life again. Was his power still too weak to make a zombie out of a person? Or did she just not have a strong enough attachment to the living world?
What a vapid life. She was probably better off dead.
But a promise was a promise. He had promised her that he would bring her home. And bring her home he shall. He was good at that after all, as his recent stint as a delivery boy showed.
Pizza boy by day, psychopath by night. No, wait- the psycho part was a full time thing. He laughed and picked up her corpse easily. She was so light. Was she always that light or did the body lose its mass when the soul left?
Did it matter?
Shiba carried her over to her house and looked around for a light. The boyfriend was probably out, looking for her if he were half a decent chap. Getting a drink or two if he weren't. A smile curled on his lips when he noticed the ivy vines on the wall surrounding the house. Perfect, he decided. So he spread her arms to the side, and held them in place with the vines. In one smooth movement of one used to killing, Shiba dug his knife into her throat and then cut down from there, slicing her clothes and her chest. The dress she wore fell into two from the front, exposing the pearly white of her skin, and the dark red of her blood dripping from the huge wound to her naked thighs. In the dim light of the moon and the weak gas lamp, she looked like a butterfly, pinned to the wall.
Now, for a calling card. What was a decent murder without that? Surely somebody as lovely as her deserved that much. Shiba nudged the edge of his knife into her right thigh, he had to be careful with this- the knife was sharp, and carved a message in neat print. Shiba had always been praised for his tidy handwriting, however unidentifiable it might be.
Home Sweet Home, My Love.
WHAT: Psycho on the loose. Ren's death.
WHERE: Housing District. Somewhere.
WHEN: Last night.
It wasn't the first time he saw her. Shiba made several rounds to the housing district daily. Sometimes to deliver a pizza or two or nine from the pizzeria he was working at. Sometimes on his way home. Sometimes it was just to take a quick walk or a job around the area, checking out possible shortcuts that might help him in his job. And since she didn't seem the type to leave the house very often, he had managed to spot her several times over the past week or so since he had arrived in this strange place.
Her features were Asian. Not Japanese in particular though. Perhaps Chinese or Korean. Shiba honestly could not tell. Still, despite his lack of knowledge about her (or perhaps it was exactly due to his ignorance), she fascinated him. Who was she? What was she doing here? Who did she live with in that huge house of hers?
She reminded him of something he had read before in a novel by Bret Ellis. An American author.
When I see a pretty girl walking down the street I think two things. One part of me wants to take her out and talk to her and be real nice and sweet and treat her right.
What does the other part of him think?
What her head would look like on a stick.
Psychotic? The book was aptly titled then.
According to Robert D.Hare, "most criminals are not psychopaths. The psychopath's trademark is a lucid mind, with often clear-headed, cool, rational justification for their behavior. What jumps out of their justifications, however, is an unparalleled egocentrism, supported by a lack of empathy that most of us find foreign and frightening. Guilt is a foreign concept to the psychopath. Without it, the emotional leash has been severed. The presence of a potential victim is as tempting to the psychopath as is a drink to the alcoholic, a slot machine to a gambler, or a piece of chocolate to a young child."
How well did that apply to him, Shiba had no idea. He was never much for introspection. It bored him. Then again, didn't that same theorist list "proneness to boredom" in his checklist for psychopathy?
"Guess I am one then," the blond boy mused aloud and then chuckled, flinging his bag over a shoulder and homed his movements in the direction of the pizzeria.
That day was different. It was late. He was making his way back home as opposed to getting back to work. And she wasn't in her house the way she used to, looking at him curiously with those bird-like eyes of hers. Instead he found her in the streets closer to his place, lost and confused. Shiba chided his mind for reading too much into the situation and jogged up to her with a friendly smile, the sort he gave to old ladies at the train stations. She returned it shyly, with the sort of reservation belonging to someone unused to being treated nicely. She didn't seem abused however. Her clothes were reasonably comfortable and fitting, her complexion shone with the radiance of one in love and loved in return. Shiba allowed himself a brief consideration of who that lucky guy might be before asking her if she needed help.
It turned out that she did. She had gone out for groceries. It was getting dark and she made a wrong turn to find herself in an unfamiliar street that she just was not able to find her way out of. Not a surprise, really. Shiba answered sympathetically. He himself took a while to get used to this new place. And he also added agreeably that he understood her anxiety perfectly. Rivelata was not a safe place. Especially not for a girl. Especially not considering the recent surge of rather aggressive animals in the streets. He had, of course, left out that little bit of information about how he was the one responsible for it. Granted, Shiba was sure he hadn't killed that many animals and certainly not every one of those turned into a zombie. His powers were rather unstable in this place. But you know animals and how they like to bite. All sorts of nasty diseases could be spread through animal bites, he was sure.
Shiba smiled and offered to walk her back. He worked as a delivery boy, he explained. And even if he wasn't sure about the rest of the island, he knew the housing district like the back of his hands. Perhaps even better than that. Since Shiba hardly made it a habit of staring at his own hands much. He would leave that to someone else.
Some friendly smiles, and easy laughter later, she had finally lost a bit of that charming shyness and suspicion. Shiba noted the exact moment when her pretty little head stopped looking around the place, trying to memorize the winding route he took her on. The moment when she stopped darting nervous glances at him. His body language was casual. Not a hint of tension at all. Not even the moment when they walked out of the light of a street lamp and he pushed his weapon -a knife with a serrated blade- into her. She gasped, shuddered, her small heart beating fast and hard, trying to keep the body alive. And then finally died.
The shadows cast on her face was a beautiful sight indeed.
One might ask if he had anything against her. Shiba frowned and squatted by her body, thinking hard. Was it the way she carried herself? Her voice? Her eyes? Was there anything about her that didn't sit right with him? Eyebrows furrowed almost childishly in consideration. His mind came up with a grand total of... nothing. He just felt like it.
Still he waited. An hour. and then two. The streets of Rivelata at night were surprisingly silent. In that two hours that he had sat there in the street corner, nobody came by. Not even a stray cat. Impressive, Shiba thought vaguely, only giving way to a small hint of disappointment when she did not return to life again. Was his power still too weak to make a zombie out of a person? Or did she just not have a strong enough attachment to the living world?
What a vapid life. She was probably better off dead.
But a promise was a promise. He had promised her that he would bring her home. And bring her home he shall. He was good at that after all, as his recent stint as a delivery boy showed.
Pizza boy by day, psychopath by night. No, wait- the psycho part was a full time thing. He laughed and picked up her corpse easily. She was so light. Was she always that light or did the body lose its mass when the soul left?
Did it matter?
Shiba carried her over to her house and looked around for a light. The boyfriend was probably out, looking for her if he were half a decent chap. Getting a drink or two if he weren't. A smile curled on his lips when he noticed the ivy vines on the wall surrounding the house. Perfect, he decided. So he spread her arms to the side, and held them in place with the vines. In one smooth movement of one used to killing, Shiba dug his knife into her throat and then cut down from there, slicing her clothes and her chest. The dress she wore fell into two from the front, exposing the pearly white of her skin, and the dark red of her blood dripping from the huge wound to her naked thighs. In the dim light of the moon and the weak gas lamp, she looked like a butterfly, pinned to the wall.
Now, for a calling card. What was a decent murder without that? Surely somebody as lovely as her deserved that much. Shiba nudged the edge of his knife into her right thigh, he had to be careful with this- the knife was sharp, and carved a message in neat print. Shiba had always been praised for his tidy handwriting, however unidentifiable it might be.
Home Sweet Home, My Love.