Word Count: 323
Notes: So the ibuprofen has kicked in, so I wrote a little drabble for Lillian based on a conversation around the pool yesterday.
I think the urge has always there. I can’t remember a time in my life when I was separate from it.
It has been with me since birth- lurking just beneath the surface, its true nature indescribable; best compared to an itch that I can’t quite reach, annoying and almost painful in its unconsummated form.
Sometimes the need to scratch at the incessant itch would be so great that I would jump up and run from the room, run from the urges that consumed my thoughts.
As I ran, I could sometimes hear my family chuckle in confusion and ask one another “What’s with Lillian?”
Yes, the urge to kill has always been there, what I lacked was opportunity.
Then one day, a bit of serendipity - a door carelessly left open.
A new world opened to me, a world in which itches could be scratched and urges satisfied. I knew if I killed right away, the door might close - never to be opened again. So, I bided my time; gained their trust while I honed my confidence and stilled my urges with whispered promises of soon.
My first time in the killing fields, I failed.
I was too excited, too eager and I gave myself away too soon. The chosen escaped easily.
That day the hunt and the chase were enough to quiet the urge, but the satisfaction was short lived.
My second time in the killing fields was successful, as was my third and fourth.
Soon I was killing because I wanted to, not because I needed to.
Not a day goes by that I don’t satisfy my bloodlust, I am a killer and I like it.
Yesterday I heard my family talking of my exploits and I felt my chest puff up in pride; they must have seen my trophies, I was hoping they would.
I am sure they are proud of me because I heard them say they were getting me a bell.