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"Royal Blood" by amandapm

My first attempt at suspense...

Category: Short Story

Tags: Fiction, Suspense

You can do an inline review of this work in the review tab.

The rhythmic, involuntary breathing of the girl was the only sound I could hear. I had the TV on as loud as it would go, wishing the wailing sound out of my mind. I noticed the tenseness of my entire body as I realized I had clenched my fists hard enough that my uncut nails had been digging into my palms, which were now trickling blood. My blood was so dark; it was almost purple. Royal blood, so different from those I had relieved. Their blood was always bright red. It always smelled of cold metal, representing what they had become. I remembered each of them. They had all been too scared to thank me, too afraid to realize that what I was doing was necessary.

She was sucking air in so quickly now that I couldnt distinguish when she inhaled and when she exhaled. She must have been considering what I would do to her. I didnt want her though. She wasnt a part of the plan; she had tied a complicated knot in it, by coming home from school early this afternoon. Her father had deserved what happened to him, but she didnt know that. I couldnt stop picturing the fear in her eyes as she saw me standing over him. She literally caught me red-handed with his blood, his bright red blood. Because she had seen me I had to take her with me. I could have taken care of her too, but she wasnt a part of the plan.

I closed my eyes, squeezing my lids shut as hard as I could, hands over my ears, throwing myself into the back of my chair again, again, and again, humming monotonously. It was still there. Her breath, sucking air from my lungs, clawing at my back, invaded my thoughts no matter what I did. I had to do something. I slowly rose from my worn, cushioned chair, teeth grinding. I turned the TV off and set down the remote with all the care in the world as rage built inside of me, twisting my gut, filling my lungs with burning air. I took one step towards the room I had locked her in. The heel of my army boot caused the wooden floor to whine with fear, matching the sound of the girls cries. Slowly, I took another step, louder this time. She hushed. I could tell she was trying to stay silent, but it was too late for that. With another step I was at the door. I clenched the cold metal knob, feeling the burn of it on my open wounds. I opened the door, prolonging the cry of the rusty hinges with intent. I could see the silhouette of her figure, knees attached to her chest, back against the wall, with her hands clasped over her mouth as she tried to quiet herself. The light from the doorway where I was standing flowed into the old room, which was empty except for the metal bed frame to which she was chained by her left ankle. I strode slowly towards her. Her body began to shake violently as I neared. When I was directly in front of her I bent down, resting my elbows on my knees, so that she and I were eye level. She avoided my gaze at first and then looked directly into my eyes, tears streaming from her own green ones. When I had walked in, I had the intention of shutting her up physically. I had wanted to drag her by her hair to the middle of the room and kick her until there was no more sound. But now, now I just looked at her. It was pitiful really, that scared look on her face. There was no point in being afraid of an inevitable fate.

Im sorry you had to see what happened to your dad. My voice came out gruff and unpracticed. I didnt talk to teenage girls much anymore these days.

She trembled as she gave a quick nod, hands still gripping her mouth, eyes still locked on mine. I had to admit, it was unnerving. She didnt look away, out of fear or awe or whatever it was. No matter what it was, it made me soften a little. After a few moments of looking into my face, expecting me to say more, I supposed, her eyes shifted to the bed frame and then down at her hands, which she now had clasped together on her knees.

Her voice came out low, soft, and unexpected. She had to repeat herself a second time, hoarse from crying. Why?

It took me a second to realize that I didnt have to answer her. I could just take care of things right now. But she was looking at me like with that look on her face that I had seen in the mirror so many years before: the look of sorrow, of loss. I didnt feel that anymore, but I didnt think about making other people feel that way. She didnt understand that I had done the world a favor by killing her father. I studied her eyes, her expression, curious and scared and sorrowful all at the same time.

You want to know why I killed your father? My voice grew steadier as my confidence that I had done the right thing grew within me. He deserved it." I realized my voice had become more aggressive, as I felt the strange need to defend my actions. She was shaking her head more and more, disbelief veiling her features. I tried to keep my calm. You wouldn't understand. Now shut up or you won't have a choice. I ended on that note to prevent her from defying me. I wasnt in the mood to argue the logistics of the past.

Her voice was still timid and shook as she spoke. How many people have you? You know Her voice trailed off as her eyes told me she was remembering the sight of her own father.

I almost got up to leave. I stayed because if I stayed it meant that I had killed those people in good conscience. I had justified the death of all twelve men before it happened. I had only killed two women, but their deaths were harder to cover up. More nosy friends involved in their lives, calling all the time, coming over to the house. I had to pay very close attention to their daily schedules before relieving the world of them. One had been cheating on her husband with her boss and had ruined his marriage. His wife had committed suicide because of her and she had continued the affair anyway. People like that should not live and I took upon myself to make sure they didnt for long.

Four, came out of my mouth instead of fourteen. Why had I lied? It had been so instinctive. It didnt really matter. She would never know, but I was enraged that I had lied. I had done the right thing to kill those people. The government was corrupt. It didnt punish people for the things I did. I had my own justice system.

I glanced at the girls face to see how she was reacting to my lie. Of course, she had to cry. This was getting old. As her tears glistened, leaving a shining stream down her cheek it made me wonder what color her blood was. If it was dark like mine, it would be an interesting addition to my collection. The test tubes I had mounted on the wall in my closet were all full of bright red blood. Hers could go in the middle of them all, as the greatest. But if I killed her, I wasnt killing for justice. I killed men that didnt deserve to live. Every time I killed, I imagined I was killing my father. If only he hadn't died before I'd gotten the chance.

My blurred gaze from my thoughts focused on her once again. Her eyes were closed now. Was she praying? Not even God could save her now. She had seen what happened and she had to disappear. This was the only way. Besides, I could add to my collection. I rose, knees cracking as I did so. There was no point in talking to her anymore. It just gave her false hope. It might even give her the confidence to fight back. Things always got messier when they fought back. I walked out of room, trying to decide which knife I would use. My hunting knife would get the job done the quickest.

I stepped into the cold bedroom in the back of the house. I already had the knife laying on my nightstand. It was the same one I had used to kill her father hours ago. I looked at my trophy on the wall above my bed. I imagined how nice her blood would look, contrasting to the others. My hand gripped the cold handle of the knife. I could still imagine it covered in the bright red blood of justice, even though the blade had not one stain. I saw myself in the reflection of the blade. My eyes had grown so hard. By just looking at me, you would think I never had felt anything before. I noticed the lifelessness of my eyes. Maybe each person I had killed had taken a piece of my life with them when they left. All the more reason that they deserved what they got. I put a test tube and homemade syringe in my pocket on the way out.

I slowly began walking back to her prison, gripping her fate in my right hand. I imagined her dark red blood, just like mine, spilling out, drenching the floor, covering my hands. It would be smooth and thick. I would take blood from her arm first, and then finish the job. I would get a full tube out of one of her veins. My heart began to flutter with the excitement of the addition to my collection. The part where life was just leaving there body was the best part. After that the blood flowed from veins that had just been alive. My hand was damp from the thought of it all. I squeezed the handle harder. I reached her doorway, so prepared for what I was about to do. Even though she wasnt a part of the last plan, I had a new one for her. There was plenty of room for her in the backyard, once all her gorgeous blood had drained.

She saw the knife and recoiled with fear. Oh God, no. Please, no, she half-whispered to God and half-begged of me. She shrunk away from me, her back pushing against the bed frame so hard it was creaking as the other side of it pressed against the wall. I stepped towards her and popped every finger on my left hand with care as I stood right in front of her shivering body. She was whispering incomprehensibly to God or to me, but it didnt matter now. I kneeled next to her on the floor. Instead of continuing to shy away from me as I expected her to, she threw her green eyes, full of feeling and life into my face. Please do it fast, she requested, choking on her own tears. I took the bamboo syringe out of my worn jacket pocket and connected it to a plastic tube and set it beside me. I grabbed her arm and pulled up her long sleeve shirt past her elbow. She whimpered as I stuck the bamboo needle in her plumpest vein. I watched the blood flow in the tube and was satisfied to see that her blood was, as I had hoped, deep red. It was so rich. I watched it pour in quickly and let it fill to the very top before pulling the needle from her arm. She yanked away from me and put a hand over the spot where the needle had been. I could tell she was confused. I stared at her until she looked at me again. When her eyes met mine this time, I realized I wasnt overcome with the same craving I had been when I came in. I had seen her blood already. My hand went to her face, which she at first tried to turn away from me. I turned it back towards mine with a gentle pull against her cheek. I stroked the side of her face, her soft hair touching the back of my hand each time I moved. She was beautiful. Her eyes did not meet mine anymore. She had shut them tight against the world.

My voice startled her into looking at me again, as gentle as I tried to be. Ive never had a pet before, I began. Her eyes opened wide, flashing me with green. You dont want to die do you? She shook her head slowly, contemplating, foolishly, if this fate was worse than death. I would be nice to her and in return she would give me what I hadnt had in years: a companion. I ran my hands through her hair as she failed to conceal her discomfort. Stop crying, I advised her. I could only take so many tears. I knew I would get angry if they continued. Surprisingly, she quieted herself. She sat there, back against the wall, eyes closed, hands covering her face. I rose to see if there was something I could get her to eat. Eventually I would have to feed her if I was going to keep her. As soon as I turned my back, I heard her chain rattle with a shuffle of movement. Did she think she was coming with me?

As I was turning, I saw my own knife was coming towards me. I watched her thrust the blade in the right part of my chest with all the force she could. As fast as it all must have been, it seemed as if it took forever for me to feel the pain. I looked into her betraying green eyes. She had been trying to stab me in the back when I had turned. I had been going to take care of her. I had never done for anyone what I had been about to do for her. I looked from her eyes, back to my chest, watching the dark stain spread over my shirt. My knees buckled as my breath left me. The pain had hit, sharp and steady.

Before I knew what happened, I was on my side, the tube of her blood still lying in my outstretched hand, unscathed. For the first and last time, I saw my own royal blood flowing across the floor, realizing it was just as bright as those before me.


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1. The rhythmic, involuntary breathing of the girl was the only sound I could hear. I had the TV on as loud as it would go, wishing the wailing sound out of my mind. I noticed the tenseness of my entire body as I realized I had clenched my fists hard enough that my uncut nails had been digging into my palms, which were now trickling blood. My blood was so dark; it was almost purple. Royal blood, so different from those I had relieved. Their blood was always bright red. It always smelled of cold metal, representing what they had become. I remembered each of them. They had all been too scared to thank me, too afraid to realize that what I was doing was necessary.

2. She was sucking air in so quickly now that I couldnt distinguish when she inhaled and when she exhaled. She must have been considering what I would do to her. I didnt want her though. She wasnt a part of the plan; she had tied a complicated knot in it, by coming home from school early this afternoon. Her father had deserved what happened to him, but she didnt know that. I couldnt stop picturing the fear in her eyes as she saw me standing over him. She literally caught me red-handed with his blood, his bright red blood. Because she had seen me I had to take her with me. I could have taken care of her too, but she wasnt a part of the plan.

3. I closed my eyes, squeezing my lids shut as hard as I could, hands over my ears, throwing myself into the back of my chair again, again, and again, humming monotonously. It was still there. Her breath, sucking air from my lungs, clawing at my back, invaded my thoughts no matter what I did. I had to do something. I slowly rose from my worn, cushioned chair, teeth grinding. I turned the TV off and set down the remote with all the care in the world as rage built inside of me, twisting my gut, filling my lungs with burning air. I took one step towards the room I had locked her in. The heel of my army boot caused the wooden floor to whine with fear, matching the sound of the girls cries. Slowly, I took another step, louder this time. She hushed. I could tell she was trying to stay silent, but it was too late for that. With another step I was at the door. I clenched the cold metal knob, feeling the burn of it on my open wounds. I opened the door, prolonging the cry of the rusty hinges with intent. I could see the silhouette of her figure, knees attached to her chest, back against the wall, with her hands clasped over her mouth as she tried to quiet herself. The light from the doorway where I was standing flowed into the old room, which was empty except for the metal bed frame to which she was chained by her left ankle. I strode slowly towards her. Her body began to shake violently as I neared. When I was directly in front of her I bent down, resting my elbows on my knees, so that she and I were eye level. She avoided my gaze at first and then looked directly into my eyes, tears streaming from her own green ones. When I had walked in, I had the intention of shutting her up physically. I had wanted to drag her by her hair to the middle of the room and kick her until there was no more sound. But now, now I just looked at her. It was pitiful really, that scared look on her face. There was no point in being afraid of an inevitable fate.

4. Im sorry you had to see what happened to your dad. My voice came out gruff and unpracticed. I didnt talk to teenage girls much anymore these days.

5. She trembled as she gave a quick nod, hands still gripping her mouth, eyes still locked on mine. I had to admit, it was unnerving. She didnt look away, out of fear or awe or whatever it was. No matter what it was, it made me soften a little. After a few moments of looking into my face, expecting me to say more, I supposed, her eyes shifted to the bed frame and then down at her hands, which she now had clasped together on her knees.

6. Her voice came out low, soft, and unexpected. She had to repeat herself a second time, hoarse from crying. Why?

7. It took me a second to realize that I didnt have to answer her. I could just take care of things right now. But she was looking at me like with that look on her face that I had seen in the mirror so many years before: the look of sorrow, of loss. I didnt feel that anymore, but I didnt think about making other people feel that way. She didnt understand that I had done the world a favor by killing her father. I studied her eyes, her expression, curious and scared and sorrowful all at the same time.

8. You want to know why I killed your father? My voice grew steadier as my confidence that I had done the right thing grew within me. He deserved it." I realized my voice had become more aggressive, as I felt the strange need to defend my actions. She was shaking her head more and more, disbelief veiling her features. I tried to keep my calm. You wouldn't understand. Now shut up or you won't have a choice. I ended on that note to prevent her from defying me. I wasnt in the mood to argue the logistics of the past.

9. Her voice was still timid and shook as she spoke. How many people have you? You know Her voice trailed off as her eyes told me she was remembering the sight of her own father.

10. I almost got up to leave. I stayed because if I stayed it meant that I had killed those people in good conscience. I had justified the death of all twelve men before it happened. I had only killed two women, but their deaths were harder to cover up. More nosy friends involved in their lives, calling all the time, coming over to the house. I had to pay very close attention to their daily schedules before relieving the world of them. One had been cheating on her husband with her boss and had ruined his marriage. His wife had committed suicide because of her and she had continued the affair anyway. People like that should not live and I took upon myself to make sure they didnt for long.

11. Four, came out of my mouth instead of fourteen. Why had I lied? It had been so instinctive. It didnt really matter. She would never know, but I was enraged that I had lied. I had done the right thing to kill those people. The government was corrupt. It didnt punish people for the things I did. I had my own justice system.

12. I glanced at the girls face to see how she was reacting to my lie. Of course, she had to cry. This was getting old. As her tears glistened, leaving a shining stream down her cheek it made me wonder what color her blood was. If it was dark like mine, it would be an interesting addition to my collection. The test tubes I had mounted on the wall in my closet were all full of bright red blood. Hers could go in the middle of them all, as the greatest. But if I killed her, I wasnt killing for justice. I killed men that didnt deserve to live. Every time I killed, I imagined I was killing my father. If only he hadn't died before I'd gotten the chance.

13. My blurred gaze from my thoughts focused on her once again. Her eyes were closed now. Was she praying? Not even God could save her now. She had seen what happened and she had to disappear. This was the only way. Besides, I could add to my collection. I rose, knees cracking as I did so. There was no point in talking to her anymore. It just gave her false hope. It might even give her the confidence to fight back. Things always got messier when they fought back. I walked out of room, trying to decide which knife I would use. My hunting knife would get the job done the quickest.

14. I stepped into the cold bedroom in the back of the house. I already had the knife laying on my nightstand. It was the same one I had used to kill her father hours ago. I looked at my trophy on the wall above my bed. I imagined how nice her blood would look, contrasting to the others. My hand gripped the cold handle of the knife. I could still imagine it covered in the bright red blood of justice, even though the blade had not one stain. I saw myself in the reflection of the blade. My eyes had grown so hard. By just looking at me, you would think I never had felt anything before. I noticed the lifelessness of my eyes. Maybe each person I had killed had taken a piece of my life with them when they left. All the more reason that they deserved what they got. I put a test tube and homemade syringe in my pocket on the way out.

15. I slowly began walking back to her prison, gripping her fate in my right hand. I imagined her dark red blood, just like mine, spilling out, drenching the floor, covering my hands. It would be smooth and thick. I would take blood from her arm first, and then finish the job. I would get a full tube out of one of her veins. My heart began to flutter with the excitement of the addition to my collection. The part where life was just leaving there body was the best part. After that the blood flowed from veins that had just been alive. My hand was damp from the thought of it all. I squeezed the handle harder. I reached her doorway, so prepared for what I was about to do. Even though she wasnt a part of the last plan, I had a new one for her. There was plenty of room for her in the backyard, once all her gorgeous blood had drained.

16. She saw the knife and recoiled with fear. Oh God, no. Please, no, she half-whispered to God and half-begged of me. She shrunk away from me, her back pushing against the bed frame so hard it was creaking as the other side of it pressed against the wall. I stepped towards her and popped every finger on my left hand with care as I stood right in front of her shivering body. She was whispering incomprehensibly to God or to me, but it didnt matter now. I kneeled next to her on the floor. Instead of continuing to shy away from me as I expected her to, she threw her green eyes, full of feeling and life into my face. Please do it fast, she requested, choking on her own tears. I took the bamboo syringe out of my worn jacket pocket and connected it to a plastic tube and set it beside me. I grabbed her arm and pulled up her long sleeve shirt past her elbow. She whimpered as I stuck the bamboo needle in her plumpest vein. I watched the blood flow in the tube and was satisfied to see that her blood was, as I had hoped, deep red. It was so rich. I watched it pour in quickly and let it fill to the very top before pulling the needle from her arm. She yanked away from me and put a hand over the spot where the needle had been. I could tell she was confused. I stared at her until she looked at me again. When her eyes met mine this time, I realized I wasnt overcome with the same craving I had been when I came in. I had seen her blood already. My hand went to her face, which she at first tried to turn away from me. I turned it back towards mine with a gentle pull against her cheek. I stroked the side of her face, her soft hair touching the back of my hand each time I moved. She was beautiful. Her eyes did not meet mine anymore. She had shut them tight against the world.

17. My voice startled her into looking at me again, as gentle as I tried to be. Ive never had a pet before, I began. Her eyes opened wide, flashing me with green. You dont want to die do you? She shook her head slowly, contemplating, foolishly, if this fate was worse than death. I would be nice to her and in return she would give me what I hadnt had in years: a companion. I ran my hands through her hair as she failed to conceal her discomfort. Stop crying, I advised her. I could only take so many tears. I knew I would get angry if they continued. Surprisingly, she quieted herself. She sat there, back against the wall, eyes closed, hands covering her face. I rose to see if there was something I could get her to eat. Eventually I would have to feed her if I was going to keep her. As soon as I turned my back, I heard her chain rattle with a shuffle of movement. Did she think she was coming with me?

18. As I was turning, I saw my own knife was coming towards me. I watched her thrust the blade in the right part of my chest with all the force she could. As fast as it all must have been, it seemed as if it took forever for me to feel the pain. I looked into her betraying green eyes. She had been trying to stab me in the back when I had turned. I had been going to take care of her. I had never done for anyone what I had been about to do for her. I looked from her eyes, back to my chest, watching the dark stain spread over my shirt. My knees buckled as my breath left me. The pain had hit, sharp and steady.

19. Before I knew what happened, I was on my side, the tube of her blood still lying in my outstretched hand, unscathed. For the first and last time, I saw my own royal blood flowing across the floor, realizing it was just as bright as those before me.

20.

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