Hell is for children


The streets of Los Angeles come alive the moment the sun sets on the pacific ocean. Vivid lights illuminate the night. There is something wicked that creeps from the city’s bowels when the west coast closes its eyes for the night. The homeless that slept safely in the light of the day walk as though they are zombies looking for a soul to feast on. It’s safer to sleep in the daytime hours. At least more eyes are watching.

She sat on the edge of her bed, dressed in only the clothing she was born in. A cool breeze kissed over her body, sending shivers to paint her flawless flesh. One check to the clock on the nightstand, and she realized she had slept all day. The young blond grabbed the closest piece of clothing to shield her body from the gentle oceans breeze she had grown to love. Even the scent coming off the breaking waves seemed a little more pungent tonight. Was there a shift in the current with the full moon? Her lungs expanded and collapsed as she pulled in another deep breath.

The silence was the first thing she noticed. Usually, she heard the seagulls’ calls that fed on the shores or the tapping of the dumpster by the homeless. Lids would open slowly, but when nothing found, they slammed shut. Nothing heard tonight. Odd. Again, something was lurking out there. Something that made every fragment of hair on the back of her neck stands at attention. Immediately she thought of that old saying.

“Something wicked this way comes.”

The blond wrapped herself in a sheet, the tip of the hem tucked down to make a Roman-style gown. Gypsy didn’t feel like clothing, and home alone, she would enjoy the perks of being a nudest. The lights in the spacious bedroom remained off, the only glow coming from the clock. To the left, the bar sat. A drink was what she needed. That would take the edge off. Young, she was wise beyond her years. If something seemed off, she knew there was a reason why. A red flag they call it. Shuffling across the hardwood floor in her bare feet, she chose the brandy tonight. She was never a drinker, but that would warm her body. Warm the bones that ached inside of her body.

A delicate crystal glass brought to her lips. She was unable to drink before the world stopped spinning for her. A scream from the beach lured her to the balcony, standing back against the wall in the shadows. For reasons unknown to her, she didn’t want anyone seeing her. That was not uncommon, but tonight, it was mandatory. Another blood-curdling scream echoed down the beach, her hands shaking as she listened. It was female. Of that, she was sure. It only took seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light when she saw the silhouette on the beach. It was a girl who couldn’t be much older than herself. She screamed like a banshee for help, yet no one came. Within seconds a male appeared to be walking in front of her.

“You fucking bitch. You stole my god damn wallet!” he said. The man’s voice carried, even overshadowing the breaking waves’ sounds.

“No, I swear. I would never steal from anyone,” she cried

Stepping closer, his hand retracted before making a connection with her face, “You fucking LIAR!”

The woman fell back, her body hitting the soft sand. There was no hard impact other than the one to her face. Her body wouldn’t feel the pain. Not this time, at least. No sooner had she tried to rise that her chest held down by a worn pair of boots. Black, the boots were of a combat style. The toe metal-plated, they pressed against her sternum to stop her from escaping. Her arms flailing, she wrapped her hands around his foot, using all the power inside of her to lift the shoe from her. It would be impossible. He was at least 100 pounds heavier than the skinny girl. Probably a whore who stole from a trick. They would never learn. The men who bought the pussy off the streets were not like her clients. They had no care for human life. All they needed was a hole to dump in their filth.

“I can’t fucking breathe. Let me up, and I’ll give you back the wallet,” she confessed.

Was this his mistake or hers? She shouldn’t be on the streets, and he shouldn’t be buying cheap whores with no credibility to them. His foot lifted, and in the blink of an eye, she was up and running. That girl didn’t make it 5 feet before his hand reached the back of her hair, pulling her body back with a snap. That was the moment she saw it. The shiny knife in his hand shimmered with the light of the moon. Gypsy gripped the glass in her hand, the beverage sloshing back and forth, her eyes stayed glued to the events on the beach unfolded. She could have stopped this with a phone call to 911, but the teenage blond was shocked.

In the blink of an eye, he raked the knife over her neck, her hands rising to the gushing wound. Spurting showers of blood sprayed across the beach. He had hit the two main arteries. There were no screams, only sloshing gurgles coming from the girl. One would think he would stop there, but no. Mechanically he thrust the knife repeatedly into her chest and abdomen. The whores body held to his but limp with death. She was gone, but he still stabbed the woman with animalistic force.

Shocked when the body fell, the voyeuristic young girl dropped the glass to the ground, shattering it into a million tiny fragments of glass. Her feet covered with slivers, slicing into her perfect flesh. The male on the beach slowly turned his head, looking to the balcony, his knife swiping across his tongue to clean the residue from the blade. The only witness to the crime was now the prey.

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