Killing Time

This is a short story/description I wrote for one of my friend’s drawings… I’ll try to get a link to it WHEN she accepts the description’s final version AND scans it in

It had been a foggy night when her father had been murdered, and she’d been turned out of her house with her sister. She’d vowed revenge on those who had brought that upon her. So, with a dagger in one hand, and a lamp in the other, she’d crept though the forest, to perform her first killing.

It’s been a year today. she thought, sadly. She held her lamp up high. It shined on the walls she knew so well it could’ve been her house. Her agitated breathing disturbed a fly on the wall. She’d done this so many times. Then why was she nervous? For the past year, her nights had been based on killing all of them. One by one. And she’d managed to shut all thought, all possible guilt from her mind.

Not today. Today was different. She turned her face to a side. No. Don’t think. But it was so cruel. So young. Why? Why would such a child want to kill? Behind her, determined as she’d been on that first day, stood her sister. Six years old, and already about to lose her innocence. How had she allowed this to happen? She turned again to the door in front. She fought all desire to turn her sister away, to shed tear. Innocence was for the weak. Good. Once more, she wiped all thought from her mind.

Without thinking any longer, she put out the flame, and, placing the lamp on the floor, she pushed the heavy door open. She gripped the dagger. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she stepped into the darkness. Her sister, without hesitation, entered behind her, smiling.

It was killing time.