Drabble me up, give me some Laf being a serial killer. That should be even weirder than Washington
Gilbert balanced the butter knife over your body, an evil gleam in his eyes. You didn’t bother to struggle any longer, due to lack of blood and hope. His hands were tight around your neck, squeezing enough to make you pass in and out. But he was angry. You weren’t making this fun.
You were supposed to be screaming.
“Now, now, ma puce, please, I cannot hear your lovely voice…” He whispered, leaning closer to your face. You said nothing, blinking slowly. He felt your heart beat weaken under his fingertips.
No. You couldn’t leave him yet.
He let go of your neck, and you gasped coughing up more blood. But that’s not what he wanted to hear. He pierced your skin with the dull knife, and you screamed. He smiled.