Midnight.

This is a piece of fiction I made last night.
Its flat, pitch-black theme was an incorporation of the bleak atmosphere manifested from a random song i listened to from our PC playlist. The plot may suggest strong violence, and so I hope this not be too sickening. :]

Downtown, where yellow street lights would flicker and the shallow yelping of dogs disturb the silence of the neighborhood, a girl runs for her life. The pain from her black stilettos did not stop her from evading the man that chases her. The man, meanwhile, merely walked, drawing pleasure from the sight that his prey flees from his otherwise inescapable power. She stumbles and sobs. Groping her way to a nearby wall, she succumbs to her frail, weak disposition. Inch by inch the man stepped on towards her. His eyes were flickering, maddening red, as he extends his long, agile arms. She shrieked in fear.

He gripped her brown locks and banged her head against the brick wall. Blood trickled from her head and his hands. Horrified, he scampered for her skirt and quickly wiped his bloodstained hands. He slid his hands inside the pockets of his overcoat and fled from the scene. The bloodstain on the wall left a dark, sparkling dye that reflected the dim lights of the sidewalk lamps.

It was midnight.

Coming inside a seven-storey apartment, he muddled for his keys and unlocked the room on the third. Inside, a woman sits by the window, waiting for him. She crossed the short distance between them, with nothing on but her silk top and a panty. His palm reached for her neck, and they kissed. For a moment. Then she pushed him away.

"You smell of blood."
"Yes I do. Why?"

She eased down and sat on a stool, perplexed but nevertheless not surprised by the news. He kept on.

"Where were you last night?"
"Bar. Got bored of waiting for you. So I took a callboy inside the restroom."

A gnashing grin formed where his mouth should be. The woman lit a cigarette and puffed.
"Who did you kill this time?"
"My wife."

The prostitute paused, glanced at him, and asked,
"Why?"

"Because she was cheating on me. While I was away, she used our house as a haven for her man-whores."

Barefoot, the woman approached him. With a small, mocking tone, she eyed him and said,
"How about me? You pay me to sleep with you. Then I see other men if I want to. We're no different to your wife."

The man clenched his fist. His eyes were the raging, burning, angry red as before.
He closed in to her, and as his shadow swallowed her, he grips her hair ...