Nedra had died. Her eyes were left unblinking, and her blood was splattered over the bathroom walls in thick increments. Ansel stared at the corpse lying limp in his shaking hands. Tears stung the back of his eyes as his shoulders trembled. A sob burst through his lips, a tear starting to fall down his cheek. Nedra's blonde hair was crusted in blood, her lips parted as if she was gasping for air.

Removing one hand from the small of her back, Ansel let his free hand stroke her cheek. Blood ran down his mouth, and guilt festered in his gut. Her cheek had a hole, skin being torn apart from human teeth... From his teeth. He opened his mouth with shaky lips and lowered Nedra's body to the floor.

She was dead.

There is no bringing her back. Ansel thought as he stared at the girl. Nedra is dead.

His mind repeated those phrases like a broken record. Bile rose up his throat, but he swallowed it with difficulty. Gagging, the heavy smell of death was like a thick fog in the room. Ansel didn't know what to do, he was conflicted with what he had to do now, and what he had done in the first place.

"Nedra..." He whimpered, his eyes glancing at the corpse. He knelt down to her body on the floor. The small puddle of blood surrounding her body like an aura dampened his jeans. Blood staining the left knee as he knelt to her.

She was beautiful, even in death. The man's blue eyes were beginning to get bloodshot as tears ran freely down his face. Nedra hadn't known him, yet he knew her. Ansel knew that her favorite food was chicken, she made pies every Saturday morning, he knew where she hid her diary, where Nedra first kissed someone, he knew every vacation she took, what clothes she wore to bed, he knew everything he could find. Yet, Nedra never knew of his existence, leaving him to watch from afar.

Until tonight, Ansel thought.

Hesitantly, he let his lips touch her other cheek. Her skin was still warm, and just as soft as he had imagined. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick her skin. It was salty, then sweet. Despite the strengthening scent of her dead body, he smiled. Chuckling to himself, he licked her skin again. Suddenly, he sunk his teeth into her flesh. Eating her, he noticed, was much better when she wasn't screaming.

"I'm so obsessed with you, my dear," Ansel said with a full mouth. Small bites of her flesh fell onto her face, blood still oozing from the holes at her cheeks. Ansel let the rough texture of his hands run over her skirt, her hair, and then her shirt. Her clothes were torn, he noticed. Covering a tear in her shirt fabric with his hand, he thought back to what led him to this point. What had truly led him to grab this young teenager by her shoulders and bashing her head into the tiles of her bathroom floor until she stopped moving.

"Remember when I first saw you?" He asked the body. Silence thickly layered in the room which let the man get lost in his thoughts.

"Mom! I got an A on my exam!" A shrill voice cried from the front yard filled with lillies, chrysanthemums, and crimson roses. A young girl held up a paper with pride. A thick, red A was written in the upper corner. A smile gracing her face as the paper was shoved to her mother.

The mother was an older woman, looking remarkably like her daughter. The same dark eyes, the same blonde hair, and the same freckles.

Ansel glanced at them with a smirk. A heartwarming scene beginning as the mother hugged her child and kissed her cheek.

"I'll be sure to go into Sophomore math now, and only in Freshman year!" The mother giggled at her daughter's excitement.

"I'm very proud of you, Nedra."

Nedra, what a beautiful name, Ansel thought to himself. The lawnmower in his hands had yet to start as he stood in his yard. He found his eyes glued to Nedra. Strangely, he felt a pull to her. One that started at his gut and blossomed to his chest as he longed to get more information about the girl. Nedra laughed along with her mother and then civilly handed the paper to her mother. Nedra's mother took it graciously and held it up to the sky.

Ansel peered at the older woman's hands. No wedding ring, he observed.

Turning, Nedra spotted him. Ansel didn't reply to the wave she sent his way, instead of starting the lawnmower and beginning his chores. After all, the two were strangers. Yet... His heartbeat rapidly as a blush formed on his cheeks. Her face was imprinted in his mind, her voice taking over every thought from that point on.

"Nedra, I will learn everything about you, and we'll be together... forever."

"Nedra, are you home, sweetie?" His memory was interrupted by the familiar voice of the dead girl's mother. He froze, hands holding Nedra's. Her flesh was long swallowed, but the holes in her face weren't filled in.

He dropped the corpse from grasp and climbed through the open window. Scrambling through the thick thorn bushes that covered the bathroom window, he winced. Thorns prickled his skin and blood from his own body began to seep into the blood from Nedra's body.

Ansel tripped as his oversized converse caught on the garden hose coiled like a sleeping snake.

Grass flew up and dirt scattered over his jeans. Ansel hissed in pain but was quick to get to his feet again. His jeans were torn at the knee, flakes of dead skin clinging onto his knee.

He was halfway through Nedra's yard before her mother found her.

Ansel chased away the guilt settling in his conscience before turning sharply to his right. A weak, metal fence separated the two yards. The metal rattled at the unexpected weight thrown on it as Ansel flung himself into the fence. Ansel ignored the pleas of help from Nedra's mother as he continued to race home.

Opening the door with a swift movement, he gasped in surprise as a dark figure came into his vision.

"And where were you so late at night?" His father's firm voice overcame his sense of dread. Ansel did a second calm down before opening his mouth. His hands were shaking.

"I had a great time at school, thanks for asking, Dad!" Ansel heavily applied sarcasm to his speech. Biting his lip, he prayed his father hadn't caught his defensive language.

His father sighed and gave him a pointed look.

"Were you doin' all them fancy drugs, Ansel? I told ya, there is nothing wrong in going out with the boys and drinking like it's free drinks night at the bar. Drugs will f-fuck up you're nose." Ansel sighed as his father's speech began to slur as he progressed in his sentences. Ansel looked at his father and smelled the familiar scent of whiskey on his breath. His father, Mr. Bullegun, half stumbled-half walked up to Ansel's face giggling like a school girl. Ansel grimaced in disgust at his father's breath.

"I wasn't doing drugs or drinking, Dad." Ansel dismissed causing Mr. Bullegun's whiskey induced smile to drop. Ansel then pushed past his father and made his way into his dingy bedroom. Slamming the door to indicate he was done talking to his father, Ansel shook his head and locked the door behind him.

A few heavy knocks were heard, but Ansel ignored it in favor of looking out his window. Flashes of red and blue lights were seen outside. A few police cars settled in the front hard of Nedra Forgie's home. Ansel softly chuckled and felt the blood-smeared under his mouth and across his chin begin to dry. Thank whatever God was up in paradise that his father had been too drunk to notice his teenage son covered in blood.

He stepped into the bathroom connected to his room. Unlike the Forgie's home, his bathroom didn't have floral patterns on the walls, a white sink, or a dead body. Instead, his bathroom was arranged of a toilet covered in black mildew, a cracked mirror, peeling grey-blue wallpaper, an ice-cold shower, and sticky wooden floors. He turned the faucet on and cold water came out. The water hit his stained hands and the sides of the sink bowl. The sink bowl was filled with white crust from unwashed toothpaste remains. The water, after being filtered through his hands, turned a dark red color. Several shades lighter than the blood on himself, but still a red hue instead of a soft pink color. Ansel grabbed a black towel to his left and dampened it after he cleaned off his hands.

Ansel held the towel up to his face and began to scrub his skin. Since he had run out of soap three weeks ago, Ansel was left with scrubbing the towel against his skin until it was clear but sore from the towel's scratchy fabric.

After he had cleared the blood from his face, Ansel looked in the mirror to see his reflection. Although the mirror was cracked, Ansel could make out his face on the reflective surface. His blue eyes stared back at him with an intensity Ansel couldn't name. Fury roared in his chest as he thought back to how he had grabbed Nedra. How he had killed Nedra.

Her mother, he thought spitefully, her mother prevented me from being with her forever.

Ansel snarled at his reflection. His blue eyes gaze shifted from himself to the small hole in the wall. The hole let the warm August breeze into the bathroom, and blades of grass peaked through from how close his bathroom window was compared to the ground level. With Ansel's eyes darting from his face to the ground to the window, his head started to hurt. A wave of cold panic ran through his veins, and Ansel forced his eyes to focus.

Getting frustrated very fast, Ansel roughly took off his shirt. He threw it on the floor and got his pants off. Turning the water on, water sprouted out of the showerhead. The cold water beaded down harshly. The porcelain tub keeping the water in was beaten harshly by the streams of water while Ansel stepped in. Each cold drop hitting his bare skin was like icy bullets entering his skin. He shivered.

His hand reached out to a rickety windowsill, grabbing a bottle of body wash. He washed his neck and face carefully. Keeping suds out of his eyes, but massaging the soap suds into his blood-stained skin. As the blood was washed off in crusted flakes of red, Ansel moved to the rest of his body. He swiftly washed his arms, chest, and anything he could reach.

He opened his mouth and let the cold water enter his mouth, shuddering every few minutes as his lips started to turn blue.

Finishing washing up faster than he expected, Ansel moved to his hair. His feet were going numb as the drain clogged. His ankles were deep in cold water, he turned off the water momentarily. He groaned and bent down to the drain. He stuck his finger down and was caught onto a slimy figure.

Pulling it to him, Ansel smiled.

"Hello, Nedra." He greeted as he held a glob of hair. The hair was moist and knotted, but it resembled a body. The long blonde hair is placed on the side of the tub as the water drained. Turning on the water again, Ansel opened the shampoo bottle on the windowsill. Squeezing a glob of shampoo into his free hand, Ansel started cleaning any blood out of his hair. Although he had not seen any when he was observing himself in the mirror, it was never bad to be too cautious.

After several minutes, the water had stopped a second time and he stepped out. The shower curtain was opened and he found a towel on the closed toilet seat. He dried himself off and dressed in hew clothes.

Wearing a fresh pair of black sweatpants and an old maroon-colored shirt, he looked out of the bathroom door and into his room.

"Ansel, that Nedra girl is dead!" A voice screamed through the door. Ansel didn't reply, but he walked out of the bathroom. His doorknob rattled violently, a few harsh hits impacting the door to where it bent and splintered. Ansel rolled his eyes as he saw the wood continue to splinter. As the knocking slowed and came to a stop. "Can you hear me?! Nedra is dead!" Ansel groaned in response and unlocked his bedroom door. Swinging it open quickly, a small body came tumbling through the door frame.

A yelp of pain came from her lips, and Ansel's little sister laid on the ground for a few seconds. Looking up, she groaned.

"Ansel, why'd you do that?" She asked irritatedly. Ansel shrugged at her and watched the petite girl get to her feet. His hands pressed to his sides as he walked away from her. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hecate, I opened the door," Ansel said monotonically. Hecate rolled her eyes at him. As she stroked her fingers over her cropped, long ivory-colored hair, Ansel's sister turned to meet his eyes. Tears were collecting in the corners of her eyes.

"Didn't you hear me? Nedra died!"

"I heard you the first time," Ansel told his sister. Hecate frowned at his answer and pointed to the outside view from a window occupying most of his wall facing the Forgie home. Her hand trembled as she pointed. Ansel didn't look out his window. Instead, the teenager placed his hand over his sister's pointed index finger and pushed it down to her hips.

"I can see the police cars." He said, and then Ansel sat down on his bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. A small creak was heard as the springs in his bed reacted. Hecate made an angered expression and flapped her hands. While flapping, she frowned deeply and began speaking.

"Why aren't you freaking out? How can you not be freaking out!? I. Am. Freaking. The. Heck. Out!" She finished, her hands starting to calm down. Ansel gave her a pointed look. Frankly, he knew the conversation was done. After all, he had been the one to kill her.

Ansel knocked at the door hesitantly. In his left hand, he held a bouquet of chrysanthemums tightly. His palms were sweaty and his knees shook with anxiety. He heard a lock click and the door opened slowly. Nedra stood at 4 foot 3 inches, the girl hiding half of her body behind the door like it was a shield. In her pale hands, she held a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

"You're not the pizza delivery boy." She said, looking confused.

Ansel found himself smiling as he admired her pale skin and ravishing brown eyes. He shook his head and lifted up the flowers. Nedra blushed and bit her lip. She was at a loss for words, Ansel thought with satisfaction.

"No, but I've brought you your favorite flowers," Ansel replied, making his voice a few octaves deeper. Nedra blushed deeper in response but hid herself more behind the door. Ansel noticed immediately.

"Do you not like the flowers?" He asked in his normal voice, his tone was softer than intended as his hand dropped lower. Nedra looked alarmed, her eyes widening in what could have been surprise or panic, but Ansel couldn't tell which at that point.

"I, uh, I should really get to bed. It's getting late!" Nedra excused with a nervous smile. Ansel's face dropped and his eyes darkened. Anger bubbled in his chest as the hand holding the bouquet turned into a tight fist.

"It's only 5:03," Ansel said, "you usually head to bed at 10 o'clock."

Nedra gasped and tried to close the door. Ansel saw this and slammed his foot in between the door frame and the door. The anger had gone through him like molten lava. He shoved his hand through the gap his foot created and opened the door. Nedra screamed but was roughly grabbed by the shoulders. Flowers were stuffed in her mouth as a makeshift gag.

"You can't escape my love, Nedra dearest."

Hecate shook his shoulder, "You there? They say Nedra was killed by a cannibal!"

Ansel froze, "What makes you think it was a cannibal?" He questioned his sister as he tried to control his quickening heartbeat, Hecate face-palmed before speaking to him again.

"Didn't you listen to anything I said?! She had bites of flesh taken out of her face. As in, cannibal, num num, yummy human flesh, y'know?" Ansel resisted the urge to smirk at his sister's wording.

"Get out." He breathed, shoving his sister lightly out his open door. Before Hecate could protest, he closed the door. The slam echoing off his walls, and sending vibrations through the floor and up Ansel's feet.

"Hey! I still wanna gossip about Nedra Forgie!" Hecate screamed at the door. A few harsh knocks rapped on the door. Ansel ignored them and looked out the window. The police were gathering up evidence in small bags. Ansel saw a tall, broad-shouldered man come out of the house. His shoes shone with the glitter of blood, and the gloves he wore were also the crimson color. Ansel watched closely, hiding his body behind a curtain with too many holes to give much privacy.

Since his window was open to let air in, and he wasn't very far from the Forgies' front yard, he could make out most of what the detectives were saying. He watched the detective slide his unsanitary gloves off with the sound of snapping rubber. Discarding his gloves into a small bag handed to him by, who Ansel assumed was, his assistant.

"Well boys, it seems like we have a guy who likes to eat dead girls." A gruff voice said, it was the gloveless detective.

"Now Darvin, this doesn't mean anything. We still don't have all the evidence." An officer to his right debated. Darvin rolled his eyes with a deep frown. His mustache covered his upper lip, and the stringy beard he had covered the entire bottom half of his face, so it was hard to tell his expression from afar.

"She had holes in her cheeks. There is no weapon in sight but the back of her head is bashed in. No bathroom sink will do that the first time! Face the facts, Kagel!" Darvin argued, his voice growing louder.

"Then where are the fingerprints?" She demanded, staring at Darvin. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"We found some. We are sending them to the lab as we speak." Kagel nodded with a small frown forming. She had nodded and turned to where Ansel couldn't see her face. Ansel's mind started to race as he took in the information. He had been sloppy and left fingerprints. Panic flooded every instinct he had shut the curtains. In hurried footsteps, Ansel walked to his dresser. As the boy pulled out a drawer, his mind repeated words like a broken record.

You left prints.

No.

You were sloppy.

You left prints.

No.

No-

No!

He slammed the dresser drawer and gasped in pain as his thumb got caught in between the drawers. In his left hand, he held three pairs of jeans. Opening a new drawer, minding his thumb, he dropped the jeans and got a few shirts. A long-sleeved black shirt, and two muscle t-shirts.

"This'll last through the week." Ansel said to himself as he turned. He scrambled to put on a grey hoodie, a wave of dizziness hit him and he took no time to steady himself before grabbing a backpack on the back of his door. He unzipped a pocket hastily and revealed it to be filled with sewing needles and threads in a variety of colors. He huffed in annoyance and stuffed the clothing over the sewing materials. His thumb ached but Ansel paid no mind anymore.

He grabbed his wallet from the pocket of his jacket that laid on his bed, then Ansel opened his wallet forcibly, and checked the inside. His fingers grazed across a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill. His wallet was heavy with pocket change, and the coins that clinked together were muffled by the wallet's leather as his hands moved fiercely.

He zipped up the bag with a tug and swung up around his shoulder. The bag was moderately light.

Ansel paused in front of the door and took a deep breath. His nerves gathering in the bottom of his gut as he proceeded to open his door calmly. His footsteps were moderately paced as he tried his hardest not to seem as emotional as he felt internally. Hecate was in the kitchen as he passed. She was making a sandwich, mayonnaise and mustard spilling out of the bread crusts which began to drip over the grey countertops.

Ansel didn't meet his sister's eyes as he walked past her. The kitchen had a large arche as a doorway, so she and her messy sandwich were in the view of anybody if they walked down the hall.

He let out a small sigh of relief when Hecate didn't pester him with more facts about Nedra's murder. After he passed her, he tiptoed around his dad. His father, who had a pile of dirty shot glasses on the sofa's side table, was passed out on the dingy couch. Ansel could hear his father's steady, obnoxious snores from outside as he exited his home. The door latched quietly, and he didn't lock it. The door had had its lock broken for three months now, so it wasn't a large concern to his father to fix it.

Ansel shifted his bag on his shoulder, fixing it to lay more comfortably between his shoulder and neck. He turned to where there were still flashes of sirens. A policeman with messy hair looked at him. They locked eyes for a brief moment before Ansel started to walk again. Anxiety set itself in his chest as he walked past the police. They didn't seem to get the results from the lab yet, the lab with his fingerprints all over her skin, sink, and door. Then again, Ansel wasn't sure how long the results of the lab could take. He was only a teenager, with no plans to go down the criminal justice path.

"If I make it that far..." He murmured to himself as he faced the ground. He scurried out of his yard, avoiding all the cops he could. A crowd started to form around the Forgie home. A few women, Ansel recognized them as old playmates from preschool, were sobbing. Tears flooding down their cheeks and trickling down their necks. Ansel looked away from them, feeling no guilt but simply embarrassed for their blatant display of raw emotions.

Nedra was dead, there was no use shedding tears for a lifeless body, for his Queen.

He spotted a few men from across the street looking at their wives as they comforted Nedra's mother. He snuck behind them, curiosity getting the better of him as he listened to the group.

"Oh," the woman gasped for air, "Lillian," An elder woman with grey hair and a bright orange hand purse said. Lillian, Nedra's mother, was sobbing uncontrollably. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her body trembled with each heart-wrenching cry. The woman merely patted her on the back as a younger woman placed an arm around the mother's shoulders.

"She's in a better place now," The younger woman, Seraphina, whispered in hush tones. Lillian shook her head. Her hair flew with each turn of her neck, Ansel wondered how it would look if it had been snapped.

"Somebo-somebody ate m-muh-my baby!" She sobbed in Seraphina's arms. Seraphina embracing her as the woman with the orange hand purse backed away. She distanced herself and got closer to the crowd of five men, including Ansel.

Her eyes were a soft amber and her hand purse was clenched tightly. Her eyes were sad, and a frown placed itself on her chapped lips. When she spoke to the group, Ansel paid no attention to her words. Her voice was nasally, and she had to take large breaths every few words.

Ansel lost interest in the crime scene shortly after realizing a few men in the crowd were not husbands of the gaggle of ladies, but part of the police force. He bit his lip and placed one hand over the strap of his bag. He squeezed it nervously as he realized how bad it would look to be emotionless at a crime scene.

He stumbled up to Lillian, stammering out fake condolences and fled the scene as calmly as he could. His sneakers scuffle against the concrete as he walked out of the neighborhood. The houses had dozens of faces peering out the windows. Small children are curious and rebelling against their older siblings when told not to look. No one was outside, it seemed, and Ansel was grateful.

He stepped on a crack in the path and moved his bag to the other shoulder. The night was slowly coming to the sky as Ansel saw his first person in the yard. It was a small boy, age three. Ansel ignored the laughter he heard from the kid and sped up his walking. He was now at a medium jog as he walked further. He was out of his neighborhood within the next eighteen minutes. The town was quiet except for the insects buzzing and distant chatter of the townsfolk. He kept his eyes down and tried to hide his face with his hair.

The black hair he had inherited would have been great to hide under, but he had decided to dye it a neon green three months ago. He put his hood up in hopes to blend in. Tuffs of green hair escaped from the hood and rested just above his eyebrows. He pulled the hoodie closer to him, clinging onto the arms and squeezing it closer to his chest.

Breeze once again floated around his body as he glanced up to check his location, the hood of his hoodie catching a few gentle blows. He appreciated the air cooling him under a hoodie in the 83 degree weather. A bright sign stood out, flickering letters spelling out words that Ansel had read every day when he walked to middle school.

Snyder's Shack of Shrimp

Ansel wrinkled his nose in disgust as the smell of dead fish filled the air. It was like a heavy perfume, but so much worse. He had always hated the smell, but the shack was close to his old school. His old middle school was just a small walk from the morgue, the two buildings pressing against each other like conjoined twins. Once he got to the morgue he could-

His thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice.

"Well hello there Bullegun! Isn't it too close to supper for you to be out and about?" Ansel heard.

In front of him stood a broad-chested, middle aged man. Ansel recognized him as his father's liquor supplier. He shrugged at the man, a neutral expression replacing his anxiety ridden face from seconds prior. His bangs fell into his eyes and he let them cover half of his face.

"We had an early supper," Ansel replied, trying to sound casual.

His father's supplier nodded without a doubt in his mind.

"More like you ate someone, bet you're gonna be on the run right about now."

He was silent for a few minutes, awkwardly observing Ansel. Ansel's neck started to heat up, the heat then spread to his ears and cheeks. The supplier scoffed and gave Ansel's shoulder a firm series of pats.

"I'm just messin' with ya." He laughed it off and Ansel hesitantly let out a few nervous chuckles. If he was going to kill people, he should have learned how to lie first.

"Well," Ansel sighed, "I have to go. Bye.. uh," Ansel had never heard the man's name. The man gave a crooked grin and took a few steps away from the teenager. His blue mechanic uniform pants rose above his ankles, obviously too short for his frame. Oil was smeared across the front of his shirt, on his hands, and a small smear below his left eye.

"Don't worry about it, you'll learn my name once you start drinkin' the real shit this winter." He dismissed. Ansel ignored the mention of underage drinking and walked away from the supplier. His heart was no longer racing, and he was surprisingly calm. Ansel didn't know how his panicked state turned into a sense of serenity, but he didn't seem to care as he walked further down the road. A quick left turn left him into a dead end, a large stone building facing him. Ansel ran his fingers across the stone bricks. The jagged texture crossed his fingertips as he slowly dragged his hand over the building. A pile of firewood was pressed to the corner, where another building met the stone bricks. Chalk covered the sidewalk of the alleyway he had walked into. Pictures of pastel yellow flowers, purple circles, sloppy blue bunnies, and bright, lopsided red hearts covered the road. Ansel spotted a white smiley face near the pile of firewood. A door was to his left, the copper and taupe colored bricks in contrast with the silver door frame. The door was dark oak and the doorknob glimmered in Ansel's peripheral vision.

Ansel slowly went to open the door, pushing his hoodie sleeve over his hand before touching the knob. There was no need to plant more evidence, he had decided as he gave the knob a half turn. The door clicked and Ansel opened the door as quietly as he could. The hinges whined in protest and Ansel grimaced at the sound. The lights, from inside the hallway the door had shepherded him into, flickered.

The inside was silent aside from the noises of Ansel's soft breathing. His bag on his shoulder felt heavy, and the needles were starting to press against his back. Or maybe it was just his nerves skyrocketing as he tried to stop shaking. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he looked around the hall.

The plush carpet was covering the floor and the walls were white. The white was stained in several places, going off white to a red-brown color in corners.

The hallway continued for 11 more feet before he reached the main room. The carpet switched to tiles as the walls extended to make a room. The walls were still a stained white color, and the tiles were a pale blue. Ansel examined the room as he searched for signs of life. The area was still silent. Ansel let out a small sigh and turned around. The area was empty, now he could be alone and do the rest of his job. Complete the work he had promised his Queen.

His eyes scanned the temporary graves of the corpses, each name placed in bold print. A table was to his left with a heart in it. Ansel searched for Nedra's name as he paced back and forth in front of the cold chambers. He scanned from the bottom up and found Nedra's name near his waist, to the far right of the rectangle clusters. He grinned and placed his bag down, the contents clinking together as they touched the ground.

He opened it and let out a small chuckle. Her eyes were closed, and her hair was pulled back into a knotted bun. He looked to see that the blood had already been washed off. Her body was covered with a thin cloth, it was draped over her from her neck down to her ankles. Her lips were blue, and her long lashes brushed against her bandages covering her cheeks delicately.

Ansel pulled up his sleeves and held his hand to her forehead. His knuckles stroked her temple. It was cold, and Ansel didn't like that it was cold.

"It's okay, my dear, you'll be okay. We'll get you all fixed, and we can be together. After all, what's a Queen without a King?" He purred, reaching his hand from her face to the back of her neck. He then lifted her with two arms, carrying her bridal style to the table used to examine the dead.

He groaned in annoyance when he saw another corpse was already on the table. Their chest was open and their heart was in full view. Ansel hopes that Nedra wouldn't mind him putting her down. She was naked under the cloth, so he placed her down on the chair that was next to the table. She obeyed and Ansel was glad, he could hear her voice, feel her pulse. It was perfectly in sync with his, just as soulmates should. His mind was clouded by his obsession, that he chose not to connect that the dead don't have heartbeats. The heartbeat he felt was merely his own, and the voices in his head were not Nedra but his mind inching towards insanity.

He pushed the body off the table and it landed with a thud. He then got Nedra back in his arms, stepping over the nameless corpse he had pushed off the table. Tools were scattered on a tray, and Ansel took the time to lay out the sewing needle and thread that he had brought in his bag.

Nedra laid on the table, arms to her sides as Ansel decided to get started. He grabbed her hand and picked up her index finger. With a sharp twist and a horrid crack, the finger was sticking out at an odd angle. The bone hadn't broken the skin, but it was able to be seen by the thin layer that was barely holding the digit in the hand. Ansel paused for a moment to kiss Nedra's forehead.

"It'll be all worth it, my love, you and I will be together forever," Ansel whispered.

With a tug, her finger was off of her hand. The embalming fluid had yet to be placed in her body, so blood oozed softly from her hand and finger. Ansel wasn't surprised by the blood, seeing that corpses bleed until six hours after their death. It took six hours for the blood to settle, Ansel had started his task near the fourth hour. Ansel grabbed a pre-threaded needle and stuck one end of Nedra's finger. He ignored the screams he heard in his head as he placed the first, painful stitch on himself. He pulled the thread through his skin like fabric, the pain was exploding with every millimeter he moved. Tears flooded his eyes, but Ansel ignored the pain and did another. He grunted with effort as her first body part was placed on him. Her finger now stuck out of his upper chest, right below his collar bone. The skin was red and bloodied by the time he had finished sewing on her finger. Nedra was quiet.

"The first time is always the hardest," Ansel explained to her in a hushed voice. Nedra whimpered and begged him to stop, her voice echoing in his head as her dead body remained limp on the table. Ansel then grabbed her hand again to finish.

One finger down, nine more to go, he thought to himself.

Around the fourth snap of broken bones, Ansel started to hum. He hummed a melody his mother used to sing him. Back before she had left his father and back before Hecate was born. Small wisps of lyrics came from his lips, the teenager singing under his breath for only himself and Nedra to hear. The pain had not gotten easier to deal with, and Ansel had tears streaming down his face. They trickled down his neck and chest, dampening his fresh stitches.

Once her right hand was done, Ansel took a break. He was panting from trying not to cry out in pain, but Nedra remained the same. Her face was neutral, and he couldn't read her expression. She had been killed, of course, but he could bring her back. Ansel just had to gather the correct body parts and connect them to himself. They'd be together forever, she would be Ansel's forever.

While grinning, Ansel broke other parts of Nedra's body and attached it to himself. By the time he had gotten to Nedra's neck, he had taken all of her fingers, pieces of her legs (including ankles and feet, connected to him at the hips), and her entire arm. Her neck was harder to break, and it was harder to disconnect to her body. His muscles strained as he attempted to behead his Queen, then he saw the saw. The bone saw was electric, but Ansel was willing to make a bit of noise in order to get Nedra to her rightful place. He picked it up carefully and studied it for a few minutes.

He found the power setting, the on and off switch, and the emergency shut off.

He turned it on and the noise it made was louder than Ansel expected, it roared at the boy with a monstrous tone. It was as if the saw was warning Ansel about his choices. Ansel let out a shaky breath before placing it to Nedra's neck. Her blood flew around the room, thanks to the bone saw. Blood spread to various places all over the walls, much like her bathroom had happened to it. Even though her skull was partially bashed in from Ansel's proclamation of love, Ansel still found her beautiful. With ten fingers on his chest and her entire arm connected to the side of his shoulder, Ansel started sewing her head to the crook of his neck. He winced with each tug of string inside his skin. His hand was shaking as he continued sewing the layers of flesh together. His head felt like it was underwater, dizziness crashing into his body like icy waves.

Once he had finished, Ansel sat down. Nedra's head flopped around and her forehead bumped into his temple. He smiled softly and turned to the reattached head. Her face was pale, and the bandages were still covering her cheeks and the back of her head. Ansel felt tears prickle in the back of his eyes. He couldn't tell if the tears were from the pain spiking through each movement his red, bloody skin endured, or if it was because of the small voice in his head whispering overlapping phrases in his ears. The words jumbled and made it to where Ansel felt like his mind was racing.

He shook his head. The voice sprouting scrambled phrases had vanished and Ansel continued with his job of repairing Nedra. Her skin was connected to his flesh, and Ansel could feel her blood start to seep through the pores of his skin. He chuckled.

"You'll be with me soon my dear. You'll be mine, forever." His voice had gone higher and his eyes went wide. He spotted a scalpel on the table of tools. His eyes then went to Nedra's chest. She had yet to be opened, and her heart was still inside her body. Or, at least, Ansel mused, what was left of it.

He picked up the scapel and raised it to Nedra's bare chest. His mind raced as he lowered the blade and cut through her skin again. Instead of her screams this time, Ansel was hit with a flashback of Nedra.

Ansel peered inside the small crack in the wall. He saw a small, wooden table. The dark oak surface gleamed with a fresh glaze, and a small hand-held radio sat on it. The radio played music in a soft tone. The words of popular artists from all times ran through the air. Nedra giggled and did a small jig as she turned up the volume.

Ansel grinned as she began to dance more wildly. Her hair slipping out of its ponytail as she swung her head around. The hair tie she had used fell next to her bed. After a few minutes of watching her, Ansel saw Nedra exit her room. The door closed with a soft thud, the lock clicking as Ansel slowly stood up. His body was nestled in between several bushes. The branches stroked his jeans as he opened the window. The window squeaked as it was opened and Ansel winced. His movements were slower when he attempted to open the window again. This time, the window opened silently and Ansel shimmied through the space. His body landed on the bed. The bed whined as he laid down and rolled off. His shoes were muddy from crouching in the dirt, the air still smelling of rain as he entered her room. A bird chirped but Ansel ignored it in favor of picking up the thin, maroon hair tie. Strands of hair covered the areas where the thread and metal met. Ansel put it up to his nose and sniffed it.

He could smell her coconut shampoo.

He slid the hair tie onto his wrist.

"A little piece of me, my dear." He whispered as he pulled an item out of his pocket. It was a small stone. The stone was a beautiful emerald green, and the stone had been a gift from his mother before she had passed. He kissed the stone and placed it down on the small, three-drawer dresser. He extended his pinkie as he dropped the stone onto the pale rose colored surface to stop the stone from making any unnecessary noise.

He left within five minutes, his mind still filled with images of Nedra dancing to lyrics from songs from his mother's teenage years.

His flashback stopped as he cut to her heart. Her heart was still and Ansel found it beautiful. He cut the heart out of her chest with ease. Blood covered his hands and forearms. He grunted in pain as he moved the scalpel up to his skin. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain he was about to endure for his queen.

With a swift movement Ansel had stabbed himself in the forearm. The blade was dragged towards him. The cut going as deep as the bone with several screams from Ansel. Dragging the blade from his wrist to his cubital fossa while screaming in agony.

It had been pure luck he hadn't been caught yet. The morgue remained empty for only a few hours a day, and Ansel had gotten there when the second to last hour was just beginning. It would be empty for at least another half an hour.

As tears streamed down his face, Ansel grabbed the needle and thread. Blood was gushing out of the cut he had made. His head was woozier than earlier, and the heart he had placed in his flaps of skin trembled along with his arm.

With a painful tug, he started sewing Nedra's heart into his arm. With his blood and her body parts attached to him, he had concluded that Nedra would be brought back to him. Death would no longer be a barrier that he had to cross to kiss her. A barrier knocked down by his love, by his obsession with Nedra.

As he did the last stitch and sewed his arm closed sloppily. His head was pounding, and his vision was growing dark in spots. The dots grew as he stumbled to the ground. His arm absorbed most of the impact as he fell to his side. Laying on his back, Ansel let tears stream down his cheeks.

They hit the floor and mixed with the puddle of blood surrounding him. It soaked his jeans and hoodie as he shook. Nedra's forehead hit his temple. He turned to her slowly, breathing slower as his lungs struggled to receive the amount of air he craved.

"You'll be with me..." Ansel croaked as the morgue door opened.

As gasps from two surprised morgatitions ran through the air, Ansel smiled.

"Forever."

Ansel's heart stopped after he murmured his last word.

Comment: Mrs. Kohne, SHS English Teacher

Hi, Lizzie,I absolutely loved your story. You are a very talented writer. This story, while creepy and weird, shows your true gift. You know how to pace a story. You know how to build suspense. You know how to show the reader the detail rather than tell. You know how to use figurative language to say something without directly saying it. You know how to write authentic and interesting dialogue. You know how to develop a character. You know how to get a reader into a character's head. You also know how to make every detail count - you know the importance of it. You are a terrific writer and should keep doing it, Lizzie. You should also keep reading. That is what makes you so good at it!