Creaak… the old wooden boards of the floor groaned. Snap. Another one died. Snap. Again. I watched them die intently. I wasn’t sorry for them. They deserved it. The man was killing them, tearing their very existence from this world.

The man wore a black patched up jacket, and old, teared jeans. He had dark brown hair and a trimmed beard. His attitude is hard to deal with. We all think he is the type of person to strangle a random person on the side of the street. He used to be nice. He gave us, what seemed to be, all the riches of the world. But one day he changed. Instead of giving, he took. I gave him everything, but others weren’t as willing as me. They fought, and so they had to pay… with their lives. This unexpected, violent nature of the man gave him a name, the killer.

The killer turned, then looked away. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t walk towards me. I knew I was safe, but still I found this feeling of overflowing terror resonating through my body. The dark haired killer started the process again. Snap. It was interesting that his quiet weapon could produce such a deadly outcome.

Snap. A thought entered my head. Snap. I wanted to kill them, too. I grinned. Just think, that thrill of having power, the irresistible feeling of triumph! Snap. I immediately doubt this thought. No one could kill as good as him, the killer.

Snap. I watched him more as the poor bodies crumble and disappear. Suddenly, a terrifying question struck me. I realized what a monster I was. Why did I want to watch them die? These were my old friends. Why do I enjoy this? I shook my head vigorously. The answer was clear. All of them were sinners. Snap. They deserved to die.

“Um… Nina… What are you doing?” I zoomed back to reality where my dad was looking at me with a weird look. I was standing at the door of the kitchen, and my dad was killing fruit flies with a rubber band gun.

Oh, crap, I wondered, Why am I thinking of such weird violent thoughts? Why am I picturing my dad a killer? Is there a deep meaning to this… this… vision? Am I psychic?

“You’ve been standing there looking as if a plane crashed and everyone died.” he murmured.

Laughing at the joke, I walked back to my room, just a couple steps away. Wait, I thought, Was that even funny? Why am I laughing at that dark humor?

I enter the turquoise room and sit on the black marbled couch. My room always seems crowded, filled with posters of animals.

I take a deep breath and sigh. Reflecting on my past thoughts, I ponder, What if I am psychic? Is that what my dad was thinking? Man, I am sooo cool... Hey, maybe I should try this on my bratty little sister...