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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Dark · #2265998
I made the title first. I wonder what this will become...?
The timing was off, in the fact that it was just right.

His intention in committing such a vile act as murder was to get caught and be killed on the spot. But, when you want one thing, it just always has to end up being the other.

He made sure she screamed before she hit the ground. He made sure to leave a trail of blood. As conspicuous as possible, for the express purpose of being found and stabbed himself. Sadly, no one cared.

He hid in the closet with the corpse for too long. No movement outside, no action. It began to stink so bad that he had to leave before he couldn't handle it anymore. When he left the closet, still no one!

There were at least a few people in the house when he arrived, and he saw one in the other room before he brought his hand down on the lady's shoulder. The blade stuck between the collarbone and the shoulder blade... It was a predicament all too familiar to his method. He even left it in there, for good measure.

But, whatever visitors populated the house beforehand had mysteriously vacated in the time he spent waiting for someone to kill him. He cursed his perfect luck, and thought back to the other times he felt the same...

Seventeen. Seventeen times he had tried this. Seventeen times he had inexplicably gotten away with it. Eighteen, if tonight went without that awaited hitch.

Eighteen times.

For posterity's sake, this is not Cain. Don't understand now? You will later.
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