The sinners : Carnage

An engine revs and my pulse spikes instantly , he's here. He hasn’t always made himself known. But now he was growing bolder , he was making sure I knew he was back. I slowly place my pen down from where I was hunched over my desk working on my assignment. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a shiver runs through my body. I lick my suddenly dry lips and exhale a shaky breath. I could have moved my desk weeks ago , months ago even when I first started seeing him. At first a shadow that made me think I was seeing things then the shadow would stand longer to make sure I saw him. He would come closer to make sure his movement caught my eye. I started to thank him in my own mind for finally showing himself , at least I knew now I wasn’t crazy. No I wasn’t but I did have a stalker and I had yet to report that I had , maybe I was crazy. One day I hadn’t heard his bike but when I had looked up from my work I had seen him sitting on his bike with his helmet still on as he watche

Walking down the aisle , I randomly pick up items of food without even really paying attention. My mind was once again too occupied. I wonder if people looking at me see just someone that looks like a walking zombie ? I randomly wonder. My mind was too focused on the conversation with my dad. I sometimes wonder if maybe it was him that planted in my mind that I should study for the job I have and he used my mother as his ammunition. The reason I wonder is because I don’t actually know when I decided to go down this route. Growing up I did dance , ballet , gymnastics, ballroom you name it , it was my passion. And I was invested all my childhood. I had been determined, because when I was dancing. When my body moved like it was possessed and like it knew what it was doing without me gaving to think. I felt free and alive. I was happy. I had friends , I had fun and I had a dream. I wanted to be on a stage , a grand one , one where all eyes were on me and they were mesmerized. I wanted to

The walls were turning a deep crimson , they looked to be melting. But the room felt cold , so how could the walls melt? I could see my breath as I breathed out. I felt strapped down and I couldn't move. I moved my head and looked down at my body but nothing was holding me down. I just couldn’t move. I looked around and my eyes caught a mirrored ceiling above me and I screamed , I screamed until my lungs burned. Yet the body that laid still in the reflection didn’t move. Their body wasn’t my own, it was my mothers. She stared blankly up at the mirrors not moving an inch. I glance around again and the walls aren’t melting I realise and the crimson was blood dripping down them. Suddenly I bolt up in bed sweating and panting. I panicky looked around the room and I was in my own room. The walls were a warm beige no longer crimson. I was no longer strapped down by something invisible. I was sitting up with the blankets pooled around my waist as my bare chest rises and falls trying to br

I woke up the next morning feeling nervous and slightly scared. This was it , my quiet planning to get away from my stalker was happening. My suitcase was packed by the door and that was the last night I would spend in that bed. I got up , got dressed, made myself a coffee and then cleaned up after myself. I had already informed the landlord I was moving out today and that movers would collect my things in two days time. Then I explained that anything left they didn’t want could be discarded. I made up some bogus thing about having to move due to a family emergency and that's why it was rushed and last minute I slipped an extra two months rent to him for the inconvenience and he was more than happy with that. I had to go about my usual routine while I tried to take in one last look at my first home as an adult. In a way, I was glad my stalker showed up here. It gave me the push to actually go b

It took me a few days to get used to my new surroundings and the new noises of the house. I have to admit I felt paranoid. Every noise I heard at night I wondered if it was him. I hadn’t heard anything from him since the last phone call. Opening up my case file I add my notes. I had scoured the evidence , or therefore lack of. I had also been doing research , given I was doing work for the FBI now they had also cleared me access to past cases that they thought involved the sinners. I had to admit I thought it wasn’t them. The other cases were cold and they were squeaky clean. Too clean. No one kept houses that clean or warehouses or wherever the murder had happened. They had made each space cleaner than before they went in. Well besides the body of course a message had to be sent afterall. This couldn’t be them. Even though there was no real evidence besides a partial print that matched no one in the database. It wasn’t a clean job. I gave my professional opinion on that and then