fiction · stories · Story · writer · writing

Huntress

183931134_d1Today’s story is dark, so please be warned that graphic violence and triggering language is used. I wrote this story several years ago, and have toyed with the idea of expanding it a few times, and I still may. But for now it remains a quite short story at just shy of 2000 words. Enjoy!

 

The blood… it won’t come off. It. Won’t. Come. Off! Her silken bath loofah felt like acid against her tender skin. She watched as the reddened water disappeared down the drain, feeling the beast within stir at its crimson colour. She would never get used to being a Huntress. No matter how many times she plunged her hunting knife into the chest of her victims or watched as the hounds devoured them from the feet up, it always felt alien to her. Running her fingers through her hair she let the tears spill down her cheeks as the water finally began to run clean. I’m not cut out for this! She screamed in her mind. The beast responded with a healthy howl that broke through her shaking lips and echoed in the small shower stall. She’s lost track of how many kills she’d made; how much blood she’d drank. They all blurred into a haze of violence and hunger; all except one: her first kill. When victim became Huntress.

She stepped out of the shower and the water stopped in kind. She toweled off her lean body in the darkness of the tiny bathroom in her equally tiny house. The moonlight bathed her golden skin in ethereal light. Her muscles flexed beneath the surface of taut skin. She tossed the towel into the hamper and turned toward her darkened reflection in the mirror. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she slowly began to recognize the girl looking back at her. She had once looked into the mirror and saw beauty; but that was a long time ago. Though she still resembled that same girl, her body had been honed into a weapon – a killing machine. Every muscle sculpted to perfection, though the body itself was scarred. She felt the beast within her aching to get out as her eyes traveled over the deep lash wounds; over her naked chest and arms. Turning her arms inward she felt the beast snap and growl at the burn marks marring her delicate skin. The first kill: bittersweet in her memory. Triumph warred with sorrow and her chest pounded. She had relished that kill in a way she hadn’t known she were able.

Prior to that kill, she had been a young woman, living her life as every other girl she knew; all except for her choice in love, her choice in life. None of the other girls harbored the dark secret, which had been her life for a year. Beaten and abused: raped, tortured, burned, cut, whipped, scarred. Trapped. That had been her life.

In the beginning it had come with apologies and false promises. Near the end she could take it in stride like a trooper. She had felt it growing inside of her, the need to punish. She had begun provoking him on purpose, just to feel the clawing need for revenge inside of her. One fateful night, he had come home drunk and threw her around the room. He held her down and raped her, burning her tender skin with his cigarette as she cried. He had reopened the lash wounds he’d inflicted on her the night before with his dull pocketknife. She had never felt the need for blood that strong, before that night. When he was done using her he had tossed her into the closet and locked the door. He’d had no idea that the beast within her had come unleashed. She had sat in the dark; no tears this time.   No pain anymore. She had felt her blood simmering with rage as she’d stood up among the coats in the closet.   She had kicked the door open with the splintering crack of wood. The sound had woke him and he came barreling into the room to find the door in pieces and her nowhere to be seen. He had started yelling; swearing at her, telling her to show herself or the punishment for her disobedience would be worse. She had pulled the kitchen knife from the block on the counter and silently moved back into the room. He had been facing into the darkened spare room, and she had toyed with the idea of plunging the knife into his back and turning it over and over until his screams of anguish stopped, but knew that that would not be good enough. She had needed to see the look in his eyes as she carved him into pieces. She had purposefully stepped on the creaky floorboard and watched him whirl around, eyes wide in anger. His gaze slid to the knife in her small hands. He had laughed then, telling her that she didn’t have the guts. She had moved swiftly; so quick that she was taking him to the ground in the small bedroom before he could react. Her knife had found its mark, plunging into his chest, hitting a lung and narrowly missing his heart. He had gasped in pain, trying to scramble out from under her or push her off as she’d pulled the knife from his body and relished the pool of blood forming thickly under him. She had held him easily, teasing the sharp point of the knife over his face, leaving little scratches on his chin, cheeks and forehead. She had giggled at the thought of piercing his eyes with the point, but decided against the act because she wanted him to watch his demise. She’d listened to him beg as she plunged the knife into his chest again, twisting it with a feral smile on her face as he screamed through gurgling blood forced up into his mouth. She pulled the knife out once again and slit his throat ear to ear. As he had taken his last, dying breath, she felt the beast howl in victory and lowered her mouth to the gaping wound in his throat and drank deeply. She had then stood up, looking down with dead eyes on the bloody carnage. She felt nothing.

She moved to the kitchen and retrieved the butcher knife. She’d had every intent of carving his body into little chunks and burying them in the back yard when she’d heard a sound coming from the living room. She’d stalked out of the kitchen and rounded the doorway to see a tall man, dressed in an impeccable black suit. He was standing with his legs wide and his hands buried in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His jaw was covered in rich, dark stubble, and his hair fell rakishly to his shoulder like a black, rippling curtain. His skin was kissed a deep golden tan like hers, and his eyes, a steely grey, had locked with hers.

“Welcome Huntress.” he had growled, and she had felt as if she’d been woken from a nightmare. She’d looked down at her blood smeared naked body and at the large, blood covered knife in one hand and sharp butcher’s knife in the other. She’d gasped and dropped both knives to floor before joining them in a heap on the ground. She could no longer feel the beast as she had slipped away into a deeply crimson fog.

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