“I’ve buried people prettier than you!” Riley’s lips were spread in a rictus riddled in spiddle. The choking sound of his victim was fun for him.
“You like it, eh?”
Her skin was rank with adrenaline, sweat and fear. Through bloodied lip, the girl let out a gurgled whisper,
“Stop! It hurts!”
“It hurts!?” Riley laughed, “I’m just playing!”
His fist flung forward, snapping cartlidge in her nose. He drew close, smelling her hair; strawberries and fear. They ought to make a freezy in that flavour.
His victim looked serene, laying there unconscious, her chest heaving from her struggle. He sat beside her, now, his own breath ragged. He licked her, and there was a flash of white light as the girl punched him in the mouth.
He tasted blood. “No no no,” he growled, his fist full of her auburn hair,
“Sit,” he gripped her throat and gave a twist; and she fell, dead. From beyond the shed, a voice called,
“Riley, dinner time!”
“Coming Momma!” the 12 yr. old stood over the body. “l’ll come back, I promise,”