Ayiesha Buckle 10HP 08/02/2008
Identity Crisis
Children could be heard through the grilled windows, black from times of neglect, of the warehouse. Summer had just begun, with the children now on holiday and more work to do. Laughter and shouting came from the wasteland outside, yet it was like the wind was alive, for no one could be seen. The sun was now high above the cracked corrugated walls of the warehouse, but inside it was cool and dark, with a slight smell of damp and only a few rays of light shining across the sharpened knives and the disfigured manikins, used for films.
Sitting all alone, with just sculptures for company, serial killer Paul washed his hands of the deep, red stain that was slowly running down his arm and dying his shirt sleeve. This was Paul’s third killing within 3 months. Nights hadn’t agreed with Paul after seeing his father murdered, when he was just a boy. Paul had been finding a victim that shared the same birthday of August 17th, the date his father was slain, with the years in descending order from 1959. In each case the victim is shot once through the chest while lying in a bathtub and Paul had been placing a nearby tape recorder that would contain the person’s supposed suicide message. Lack of sleep had had a big effect on Paul’s appearance. Swaying with his quick movements was his cropped messy hair; the innocent eyes gleamed in the limited light; the deep, sinister noise that came from within, boomed with laughter. Even though he knew he had outsmarted everyone, the battle was not won yet. Moving with confidence, which you would have at his height, he glided across the stone floor towards his latest project.
