Short Story

Every night he would watch the old man sleep. He found comfort in knowing that the eye was not watching him, that it could not see the true evil in him. While the eye was closed, so was the idea of killing the old man. It is not until the old man awakens each day that the struggle within him is apparent. This may be the reason why the narrator is so obsessed with watching the old man sleep. The actual act of murder, which the man believes was premeditated, was in fact a spur of the moment action. He toiled with the idea while the man was awake, that is, while he could see the "evil eye". However, while the eye was closed, the man was at peace. One night, during one of the man's "stalking" sessions, the old man awakens. The man goes into a paranoid frenzy, mistaking the beating of his heart for the beating of the old man's heart. During this frenzy, the man is afraid that neighbors will hear the beating of the old man's heart. This causes the man to take action. He quickly subdues the old man and kills him. He then takes extreme steps in disposing of the body, dismembering it and burying it under the planks in the floorboard. These extreme actions can be used as evidence to the paranoia that is taking over him. The fear of getting caught would be a normal reaction to someone who has committed a murder. However, the dismemberment of the body was not necessary since the man had ample resources to dispose of

The murder was pretty confident about getting away with the killing. When the police showed up at the door he had a very light heart, thinking no one could discover what he had

She surveyed her kingdom. A kingdom of concrete and grey, but as far as she was concerned it might as well have been made of gold. The shine of the windows towering up above were her diamonds, and the taxis driving by were her limousines. Her black raw denim jeans, fitted t-shirt, and sneakers were her ball gown and crystal shoes. She has a quality about her that anybody who crossed her path could see. Her blue eyes reflect the silver city and her smile could make you feel warm on even the coldest of New York winter mornings.

You growled and lashed out at the boy who stood in front of you with a knife wielded in their hand. The person simply dodged and kicked in the back of your legs,making you fall back onto the muddy grass that you were training on.

The year was 1993. It was cool, and dark out. I had been watching her; watching her every movement, for almost an hour. Time was ticking by, and soon it would be eleven o'clock: the town's curfew. I had attended church a little before, and I hadn't seen her there, which only confirmed my suspicions. Her red hair looks even more striking in the light of the moon. She threw her head back, laughing at something that her friend had said, and I frowned. Didn't anyone else suspect that she was different?

My eyelids cautiously creep open and darkness consumes me, I cannot see anything but I know I am somewhere I do not know. The cold air engulfs me into an embrace almost greeting me as old friends. I feel the stubby hairs on my arms prickle upwards as if to warn me. I writhe, trying to get out of the uncomfortable position I have been seemingly forced into but the rope cuts off all movement. Its sharp ridges claw at my skin, creating a burning heat, I stop moving. That is when the screaming starts. The shrill cry of a woman comes from behind me, a muffled scream to my left and a crying baby to my right. It doesn’t stop, it only gets louder and louder. All kinds of moaning and groaning comes from every direction.

“Mr. Tartt? Mr. Tartt?” A security guard asked stepping into the storage closet looking for me. I finished typing the email that was being sent to Kasten VanMeter, a detective that I thought could reveal the suspicious activities happening here at Mount Massive Asylum. I stood straight up, closed my laptop, and walked to the entrance of the room where I was met by the security guard. “Where have you been? They called for you 5 minutes ago.” He asked in an irritated manner. I ignored his question and walked down a long cold hallway to where I was requested. As I entered, the doors slid apart making a whooshing sound. Several men in Hazmat suits glanced at me and then went back to work. I walked in hastily and sat down at my desk.

An endless round of blood curtling screams ring throughout the night, almost as chilling as the cool breeze of winter back home. I bite my lip, instantly getting the bitter taste of the freshly drawn blood. It’s hard to ignore them, a pang of guilt hits hard to my chest reminding myself that I am just leaving them there to die. Their last breaths being the musty air of rotting bodies, their last sights being a dark shadow of nothingness, their last thoughts- knowing nobody had enough guts to at least try and help them. I glance around to the other men, still beaten but healthy enough to live on to the next battle. Some look frightened, some as courageous as a lion, and as for myself- none of the above. I am neither just frightened nor

I shoot up from my bed in the middle of the dark in a cold sweat, my eyes adjust slowly as I rub them in the darkness. I glance beside me at a familiar silhouette, it's none other than Thomas and I note his arm carefully constructed around my waist. In the few years I've known him I've realized this nervous tick about him, like a child, he finds the need to cling onto something in order to sleep. There have been moments in the night where I've found him cradling me like a beloved toy in his arms possessively but in the morning he's always gone and he leaves no evidence of his actions.

“HAVE YOU HEARD ANYTHING?” she questioned in a hushed whisper in the elevator, the peacekeepers undoubtedly waiting at the bottom doors. It was a relief that they were going up. There were never set rules on if tributes could go into different floors that didn’t correlate with their district, but frankly, Reeve felt like the rules were out the window at that point.

“Yeah…I-It fits…” They look in the mirror and a smile tugs at the corner of Ryan’s lips, tears start to prick their eyes and they choke back a sob.

“Just having a quiet night in. Alice is at work so I get the remote all to myself.”

"So you could be anyone?"She asked, rolling onto her side. "You could be a prince."

Tensions were rising higher and higher, slowly reaching their destination. Looking at the large white building with many glass windows and a large flight of steps. Isaac lowered his window, sticking his head out to observe the area around him. He noticed the research center seemed much more peaceful than he’d imagined, but with the Sangrine Syndicate around he knew the peace would be short lived. Pulling into the parking lot, there were multiple cars parked. Sabra knew what had happened inside, not saying a word to anyone. She parked her car near the entrance of the parking lot. Team S.P.D found a place to park also, exiting the car to group up with Sabra and the others. Looking at each other, they moved towards the building

Mentions of near death--or better yet a hasty correction of actual demise--caused the newest displeased crinkle to mar his brow, yet there was little time to dwell on the tugging of well banished memories as his unwanted companion continued to speak. Being presented with a name, despite him proclaiming that he had had no interest in learning one, was against his desires, but would ultimately serve him well. Or at least it would be better than constantly thinking up crude descriptors to rely on. While Cyrus held absolutely no intention of remaining in this strange atmosphere he’d awoken in, there was an uncomfortable sense of foreboding that there would be no removal from his current circumstances for quite some time. No proof existed at