Intensified Insanity.
Christa woke as she heard a squeak from her daughter and looked around. Her eyes grew wide and stiffled a shreak as she saw what was a looming figure clutching her precious child.
"How 'bout i wring her precious little neck ad paint pretty pictures with her blood?" He grinned menacingly while gripping Alisa's throat with an iron fist.
"You bastard! Let her go!" Yelled Christa as she panicked at the sight off her defenceless daughter. "I'll do anything! Just let her go!"
"Anything now poppet? Anything i say? Absolutely aaanything?"
"Stop toying witth me! What do you want! I never did anything to you! My daughter never did anything! Let her fucking go!"
"Oh yes... Indrectly, you did do some disturbing things to me... To my family in particular. I've come back for revenge,"
"We did not do anything to you!" She yelled.
"Are you or are you not the decendants or Edgar Grisham?" He yelled back. The bulding shook as the dissonance of his voice ressonated throughout the room. It was unnatural. She shivered and broke out in cold sweat..
Painted pretty pictures,
In tiny blotches of red,
Fingers going through hair so black,
eyes so full of anger and hate.
He sang those eerie lines as Chrysta's panic rose further as her daughter was pushed from side to side. Thoughts of her daughter being thrown out or her tiny neck broken and a lifeless shell lay sprawled on the floor lay etched in her mind. God no... she thought. She slowly creeped towards her bed table and slid out the drawer as quietly as she could and took out her Smith and Wesson Revolver. Being a trained ballistics engineer, she was also fond of guns and other weapons and could double up as a temporary assassin if a financial situation reared its ugly head, she didn't have to aim for a perfect shot. She pulled the trigger and the bullet whizzed hitting the intruder square on his head. What should be a lifeless corpse now stood grinning at her with eyes full of malice. It jumped out the window carrying Alisa with it. Chrysta Screamed.
"How 'bout i wring her precious little neck ad paint pretty pictures with her blood?" He grinned menacingly while gripping Alisa's throat with an iron fist.
"You bastard! Let her go!" Yelled Christa as she panicked at the sight off her defenceless daughter. "I'll do anything! Just let her go!"
"Anything now poppet? Anything i say? Absolutely aaanything?"
"Stop toying witth me! What do you want! I never did anything to you! My daughter never did anything! Let her fucking go!"
"Oh yes... Indrectly, you did do some disturbing things to me... To my family in particular. I've come back for revenge,"
"We did not do anything to you!" She yelled.
"Are you or are you not the decendants or Edgar Grisham?" He yelled back. The bulding shook as the dissonance of his voice ressonated throughout the room. It was unnatural. She shivered and broke out in cold sweat..
Painted pretty pictures,
In tiny blotches of red,
Fingers going through hair so black,
eyes so full of anger and hate.
He sang those eerie lines as Chrysta's panic rose further as her daughter was pushed from side to side. Thoughts of her daughter being thrown out or her tiny neck broken and a lifeless shell lay sprawled on the floor lay etched in her mind. God no... she thought. She slowly creeped towards her bed table and slid out the drawer as quietly as she could and took out her Smith and Wesson Revolver. Being a trained ballistics engineer, she was also fond of guns and other weapons and could double up as a temporary assassin if a financial situation reared its ugly head, she didn't have to aim for a perfect shot. She pulled the trigger and the bullet whizzed hitting the intruder square on his head. What should be a lifeless corpse now stood grinning at her with eyes full of malice. It jumped out the window carrying Alisa with it. Chrysta Screamed.
Comments