literature

Jeff the Killer: Acceptance.

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Literature Text

The overcast cradled the moon in grey sheets.

Regardless of it's new-found coat of thickening mist, the lack-luster of the moon's light didn't hinder his gate.

Striding onward into the embrace of the night, the pinch of his etched smile taunted him. A cold, smooth wisp of air drew straight into his lungs through exposed nostrils as the buzzing grew louder. The only insects that buried into his skull came to him in the form of voices, dozens of voices. While low in volume, the chanting of each and every voice were merely part of him now, so much so he could sometimes tell his own thoughts from their muffled screams and mournful whimpers.

They kept him company.

Even the echoes of screams are sometimes more comforting than the weight of silence in the death of the midnight hours.

Slowing his pace, his slicked hand dragged down his hoodie in a paint brush motion. Layers of crimson caked onto his fingers now making them stick. A grimaced expression moved all the muscles in his face but the crescent-shaped flaps of meat hanging from just beneath his cheekbones.
The moisture of leaves served as damp towels as the young man's body slowly seeped into the forest floor.

She didn't look at him, she saw him.

The thought of this had him drawing in a hinged breath. There was a complexity to just that phrase that he failed now to wrap his mind around. The buzzing grew into a monotonous drone.

She didn't look at him...

He knew she recognized him from the news, a forum, someplace where an artist rendered sketch of him was plastered. And it was the way her eyes fixated on him that left him in a haze; it were as though she had been expecting him, just how she looked so prepared for his arrival, this was something that he'd never seen before. The way her face remained expressionless as he exited the neighboring house seemed as though she had stared at him for hours on end.

This is a mistake. Go back. He sneered, It will be like that boy and his shot-gun toting father all over again.
"What is she going to do? Give The police a sketch of our new identity?" he answered with equated anger. "It can wait until tomorrow night."
THIS ISN'T A JOKE. Tomorrow will be too late, cops will be all over the place. You need to go in there, and slit the little bitch's throat, now.
"We took care of that lil shit and his dad, didn't we? Don't you remember the look on their faces when they saw us again?"

His eyes idled as though he has closed them, part of his imagination was soothing them with the brush of eyelids. Their likeness faintly flooding in front of him served as a reminder that it had been years since Jeff had dreamed, but these fantasies were just as good.
The way their eyes widened till they were glazed whites reflecting fractions of light, how their abnormal mouths formed horrified gapes that refused to draw air. A chuckle escaped while he remembered all too well how they looked before he made them perfect.

Mother always said to look your best...

The curl of his smile was dominant on one side as he stood.
A little side project. Haven't written anything in a while. 
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