Simple thoughts. The lights are bright. Her breathing is shallow. Almost non-existent. It is the only sound. Broken occasionally by the friction of his white coat.
She's a pretty one. Not the best he's seen, but he is content. She was easy to catch. Gullible. Her eyes, although filled with terror, still wanted to trust him. He could let her go and she might not ever say a word. Not even to the dark when she lies awake at night - too traumatized to sleep. He loved that about her. She was loyal to a fault. He pondered these thoughts only to amuse himself. She would never move again. The first cut saw to that. He was precise. He had to be. Sloppiness was unacceptable.
He gently brought his blade to her skin. She would not feel a thing, but her eyes welled anyway. Still pleading to him. Begging for him to be the man she wanted him to be. And he felt sad. Not sorry. Only sad that he could never experience that sort of raw emotion.
He used to come close. When the idea was fresh. Now it was just habit. He would realize that his thirst would never be quenchable. As he carved into her skin, he began to debate himself. Perhaps it was time for a new hobby. Something a little more... socially acceptable. He always wanted to brag to his friends about how easily he could dismantle a person, while only leaving behind a small mess. They wouldn't see the art in it, though.
None the less, it was time to move on. She was still looking at him. Still breathing. Not sure what all he had taken. Or if he had even begun. He felt sad for her. But he couldn't leave a project unfinished.
