@Link: I Role Play a sadist strangely well. I can do multiple styles but funny and sadistic are the two I am best at in my opinion. It also helps that I was listening to some dark music about a sadistic killer when I was writing it too.
@staika: Pretty much the only thing that I think I write well is paranoia and self-doubt. I always think my graphic deaths fall a little flat compared to the ones where I am mostly stuck in my own head.
Might it's because I spend more time in my head than being killed. >.<
@Link: I do have a problem in that I am never satisfied with what I write and I always think it's crap until someone tells me otherwise. I am getting a little better but when I started writing I would never show anyone what I would write because I was too afraid of them seeing the crap I wrote.
From the beginning of this vicious 'cycle', within what had seemed like a sick game for some sadistic higher power, I was given a purpose. I was told of this purpose by a voice, or rather the voice, which had come to me in my sleep. "You're a Priest," it said. The rest of the conversation is entirely irrelevent with the subject matter having the potential to break The Fourth Wall, which would be entirely detrimental to the serious tone I am trying to convey here and will leave you readers with a very shallow level of immersion...but I digress. Back on track, I was given a privelege - the opportunity to bring one back from Death's cold grasp and place myself in his or her stead. Such a choice would not be very difficult, had I the chance to make it...
I sat before the sacrificial altar, onyx dagger in hand, the question of who to save floating around in my mind, should I decide to go through with it. It was much too early to make a decision, but I figured I may as well familiarize myself with the process - though not only to reduce the possibility of mistakes, but to get used to the idea of taking my own life. All was still in the dim candle-lit sanctum sanctorum of sorts as I was deep in relative sanctity of my own mind when soft 'clop' of a well-polished shoe stepping into the altar.
"Well, Priest, it would seem you have become the one in need of saving. Though I doubt -" was all The Killer managed before I reeled and charged, dagger raised and ready to be swiftly brought down in a killing blow.
I took two steps before the first pull of the trigger, the bullet narrowly missing my heart, and was in the midst of a wavering third when the trigger was pulled again, the second round piercing my left lung. I collapsed to the ground, gasping, my breaths growing shorter with each one I took. I layed there for a moment, shocked and starting to drown in my own blood before I acted. Struggling to raise the dagger - feeling as if I was pushing my arms through sand - in order to bring it down into my heart and save another, making it so my death would not be in vain. Alas, before I could pull the blade, it was pushed from my grasp by the third shot which went through the back of my hand and was embedded into the leather-bound hilt of the dagger, soon sliding across the floor.
I let out a cry of exasperation, exhaustion, and the bitter realization of defeat. My choked gasps were met with the sounds of The Killer's footsteps, though the sounds grew quieter and quieter as their source retreated down the hall from whence they came. It had seemed my short, ragged breaths would be the last I'll ever hear. The candles burned on, though to my eyes, their light was diminished by a black veil that grew denser with each second - seconds which were now the dearest thing I held onto, ever fewer they were becoming. The veil enveloped me, wrapped me in a cold cocoon from which there was no escape, for my last breath left me. Then I grew still, my eyes facing the hall to the altar and ready to be met with those of any who may enter. Though I was certain nobody would come...
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