I held my breath when they walked into the room. They were already in their pajamas. Light blue cotton by the looks of it. There are silver clouds on them. Cute. I got them that for christmas last year.

I tensed, but let out a slow, silent breath when they got into bed, squeaking as the settled in. I heard them let out a sigh. I closed my eyes slowly and clenched my fists together for a second before grasping my intrument of choice. Calm. I flipped open my pocket knife as they turned over above me, sighing again. Restless. They were not yet asleep if their muffled, uneven breathing was anything to go by. 20 minutes had passed since they went to bed. I am still vengeful. 10 more minutes. They must have insomnia. I am as malicous as they are. 35 minutes, so far. I am now they monster under their bed. They shift and sigh for the umpteenth time. I am their childhood fear, the boogeyman. But I won't only haunt their dreams now.

They finally sit up now. I hope I can live up to their worst nightmare. They gasp as the air conditioning unit turns off, leaving a loud silence. They made the unexpected happen for me. They sat straight upright in their comforting bed, looking around frantically. They held their breath as fear was embedded into their brain by the ominous darkness. I hope they were expecting karma to step in. Please call be Karma. Although something close to irevenge/i would work too. I grinned as I rolled quietly to the right. I'm next to the bed, lying, shrouded in the night. It is half past midnight. Too soon, I decide. I watch interestedly as they curled back down into their sheets in fear. I wondered what they were imagining. Were they imagining that the faint rustle of clothing they heard as I stood, a waif in black, was actually some disfigured coming for them? Curtained by the blackness of night, I listened to their whimper as I fingered the cold blade in my hand. Well. They got the disfigured part right. I thought this spitefully. My need of all the skin graphs, costly surgeries, were because of them. They caused this. Now I really am a monster.

I stood there, towering over the black shadowed form on the bed. My 'victim'. I heard their breathing in the quiet, short shaky breaths drowned in their fear. They were obviously trying to be silent. Oh, had they gotten scared? Have they read to many horror stories before sleeping? Aw I hope not. Becasue none of those are even close to the truth. The amount of horror and pain shown in those stories cannot even amount to a part of what is about to happen. Are they anticipating? Or do they think they are just being paranoid?

I reached out, one hand over their trembling form and I paused, hearing them gasp. I grinned and brought my hand down, slowly and softly. I felt their chest beneath my palm, their heart beats erratic. Did they now think that this was a hallucination? That they had had too much to drink before bed? That they ate some bad food? Well, all that is probably true. Except this is real. They've gone as far as to hold their breath in. That's not really smart. I moved my hand around, savoring the feel of their familar muscels locking up, tensing in fear. I memorized the place where my hand is; over the stomach, just beneath the ribcage. I moved my hand. I quickly brought down the knife in my other hand onto that spot. I buried the blade to hilt, blood quickly seeping out from the wound and coating my pale hand that still gripped the knife. I laughed quietly, but it was drowned out by their muffled scream of fear and pain. I had gagged them just as I stabbed them. I wouldn't want anyone to come in. I'm not done yet, so no interuptions. I haven't even really started.

I left the knife in their chest and locked their door. Not that anyone would be coming in, extreme amounts of alcohol can acheive amazing things.

I turned on the light. No point in doing this if it's impossible for me to even see what I was doing. I went back and stood over their curled form. My position when they left had been similar. But the pain they're now is nothing to what I was in. I took my knife out of them, a sickening pop coming from their ribcage as I ''accidently'' pressed it in too far. I smiled sweetly with my fucked up face (their doing) in response to the fear and pain clouding their expression. They didn't even recognize me. I drew cuts along the opening of their pajama shirt, not looking them in the eyes. I bet they didn't care I was dead. I bet they were happy torturing me to almost death. And here they couldn't even face me, or what I am now due to their work. I pulled them from bed and onto the hardwood of their floor, keeping the gag in their mouth. They had tears in their eyes as I stripped them of their pajamas. I'm sure they were expecting me to rape them. Never. I can't even look at them without disgust bubbling in blood. So I will take their blood from them. I carved pretty designs in their white skin, their fear mixing with the sweat to help the crimson red coat the floor disgustingly. I sneered at their helplessness. I slashed at their limbs, recently sharpened blade cutting clean and deep. The floor, the walls, their bedding, were splattered again and again. The blood painting their clothes, photos, posters, in pay for what was ruined of mine. Of me.

I dropped the knife and clawed at their face. They had given up fighting back. Now their limbs were barely attached. They're not strong enough to even attempt to protect themselves. This made my anger swirl uselessly in my head. So I brought it out in my actions, stubbed fingers and the nails that were left making ridges an their skin, blood pooling in the crevices made in their skin. All if it was stuck on me, their scent, their blood, the skin and the hair I'd clawed and ripped out. I screamed, low and roughly. I rubbed my hands against their back, making the once soft skin there raw and bloody. I cried with them and got a lighter from my pocket. I flicked it on. Their back was to me, so I stared. I went to my knees and began burning their calves. I watched in fascination as the skin went red and black. I got another a pack of nails out. Obscenely long ones. I stapped a couple in their back. It was hard but I managed to shove them in as far as possible, probably paralyzing them. I took a nail and held it under the lighter. The nail began to melt and drip. I moved the drips over their legs and watched curiously as the siver liquid burned into their skin. Deep holes were made, shiny skin being cut thorugh fast by the hot metel I gave up on melting the nails, going back to stabbing them in where I can. I turned them onto their back and they screamed louldly through the gag. I sympathized. Doesn't it suck?

I ground and few more nails in, breaking ribs along the way, peircing organs too. Their skin was broken open, bloody and squishy on their top part. From their waist down the skin was melted by the liquid metel and burned by the fire. Their arms were barly there, my anger filled slashes making it impossible to gauge how much of their arm was actaully...on their body. I wished I had liquid nitrogen. So I could burn their fingertips and toes with the obscene cold of it.

I took the small stone you had on your desk. it was a bit bigger than my fist. I slammed in into your knees and shins, breaking them loudly with a crack or two. I then took this stone, and splintered your teeth from your mouth.

And now for the end. With a strength I didn't think I could ever posess I grabbed the bottom of your jaw. I took two blunt fingers from my other hand into your eyes. I pulled up by your sockets. I used my other hand to pull your jaw down. Your jaw broke off, the tendon and muscel there ripping and stretching like taffy.

My revenge. I lightly kissed all over your body, as I still loved you, and them poured the cup of keroscene I had brought over the both of us, coating us with the smelly, sticky liquid.

I flicked on my lighter.