It was the night when the air smelt like roses and the stars shone through storm-brewing clouds that you found me. I was alone, walking home from what I thought was the best night of my life. Your honey brown eyes caught my attention, but soon I felt like I was suffocating. I began to run for no reason that I knew of at the time; my heart pounded in my brain as the blood seemed to vanish from my fragile body.

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You caught me. I screamed, cried, and started kicking at your legs. You covered my mouth and shoved me into a dirty red pick-up truck. Then you got into the front seat and drove away. I laid my head onto the dark leather seat and looked up at the sky through the sunroof. The stars no longer shined; everything was dark.

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You drove for what seemed like hours until we reached your destination. I make a plan in my head to run the second you open the door, but when the time actually came I panicked and allowed your arms to wrap around me. You carried me into a cabin-like house, and sat me on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. You then grabbed a rope from the back of your pocket and started to tie my hands and feet together. It was then that I noticed something chilling: your eyes were blank; soulless; terrifying. Then I realized why I was scared of you in the first place.

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It was your eyes this whole time. My mother told me that I had to look into them to know who a person truly was; to know if their intentions were good. Looking deeply into yours, I have accepted the fact that I will die because I don’t see anything.

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“There will be nothing,” she said, “You will look into their eyes and it will be like looking at a brick wall.”

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That’s what it was like with you, looking at a brick wall. You had no soul, no conscience to tell you that what you were doing was wrong. It’s like your actions controlled your brain instead of the other way around.

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You walked away from the chair over to a box that was covered in blood. I wasn't your first, which made sense. You knew what you were doing. Murder for you was like breathing or walking; something that you have done and will do until your own life is taken.  

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You take out a knife and close the box back up. Then you walk towards me and began to slice my pale skin. I cried out and begged you to stop, but the more I did the deeper you cut. You thrived off my pain, my screams, my cries. If I would have known better, I would have stayed silent to make you uncomfortable.

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You continued to cut my once perfect skin, as the blood poured on the floor. As my eyes began to close and my body became limp, I think about how glad I am to have had the chance to smell the air and look up at the night sky. It was the night when the air smelt like roses and the stars shone through storm-brewing clouds that your honey brown eyes killed me.