Scarlet: on killing
She rarely remembered the kill itself. The days or weeks leading up to it - the hunt, the chase, the game, the sweet scent of blood.
The scent of fear - all of it, the tears, the sweat, even the foul stench when they lost control and shit themselves in terror - it fascinated and drew her.
She remembered her first kill, of course, every detail perfect in her mind. After that, the deaths themselves were a blur. The tear stained faces, mouths begging, threatening, praying - they all ran together.
She remembered the feeling afterwards though. Staring at an empty sack of meat, in the moment before her mind turned to the practicalities of clean up.
Satisfaction.
Completion.
Justice.
The scent of fear - all of it, the tears, the sweat, even the foul stench when they lost control and shit themselves in terror - it fascinated and drew her.
She remembered her first kill, of course, every detail perfect in her mind. After that, the deaths themselves were a blur. The tear stained faces, mouths begging, threatening, praying - they all ran together.
She remembered the feeling afterwards though. Staring at an empty sack of meat, in the moment before her mind turned to the practicalities of clean up.
Satisfaction.
Completion.
Justice.