I can hear her breathing getting heavier and heavier. I can smell the fear running through her. She has no idea where is she, or that she is being watched. All she can see is the darkness of the black nylon hood that is draped over her head.

I watched this one spend hours in front of mirror primping and staring at her own beauty. Vanity is a weakness. She was too caught up in herself to realize what was going on in the world around her. For that reason I masked her face from the world-covering it so that she can not show off her beautiful and elegant features.

The room is cold and damp. Dark and mysterious, just like my black withered heart. I set in front of her gazing at her. She hasn’t got a clue that she even being watched. That makes all the more fun. I see her struggle with straps around her wrist and legs that are keeping her confined to the wooden chair. She lets out a powerful cry for help. We are miles from civilization. No one can hear her. No one but me. Her cries sing in my ears like a sweet symphony.

I walk over to my work table and pick the rusted nail gun. I hover it over her right hand. She has stopped screaming. I squeeze the trigger sending a nail straight through her palm attaching it to the chair. She screams at the top of her lungs in pain. I almost drop the nail gun the as the sound overwhelms me. Now what mother? Now what should I do? Should I keep torturing this poor soul, or should go ahead and rid of her weak pathetic existence? She begins to ask why am I doing this. I say nothing. I drive a nail through her left palm now. She screams again.

I set the nail gun back onto the table. I pick up my axe. I walk slowly and quietly behind her. I can sense her going into shock. She has gotten very still. The blood flows from her hands on the floor like a crimson water fall. I lift the black nylon hood off her head. She takes a quick look around. I raise the axe and swing. The blade cuts through her neck as if it were powered by the flames of hell itself. Her once beautiful face is now frozen in fright. Her pretty little head rolls across the cold concrete floor like a bowling ball going in for a strike. This will be a good addition to my collection. I place her head in my black trash bag and disappear into the darkness.

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