Chapter 1 - Set the Stage

The boy, named Tristan Evans, was a seventeen year old senior. Tristan lived in a city called Addison, in the state of Texas. He was a decent student. Tristan always kept his grades to an A-B, maybe the rare C, standard. He ran track. He had a good amount of friends to occupy his social life. But things started to bore him, so he strayed a little from his usual clique. Only to find me, or me find him. His worst nightmare, my exciting fantasy. His hair was a long dark blonde curtain that covered his eyes a bit, with a soft, straight texture to it. Tristan’s hair, at this moment, was dirty and dripping with cold sweet sweat. He was handsome. His body was built in all the right ways: his height was 6’1’’, he had strong arms, a delicious stomach, and legs that displayed the fact that he ran a lot.

                Now to introduce myself. My name is Rosabelle Leigh. Or at least that’s the name I have chosen for this chapter in my life. I am 16 years old. I have lived in many different places and I have had many different names, identities. You might wonder, “Why?”. Because I can. Because it’s fun. It’s my game. I change my name and location, but I never change my appearance.

                My hair is always a brown and red color that goes about five inches past my shoulders. It is extremely wavy. My eyes are a strange color.. Or should I say colors? They change in a wide variety, including blue, green, yellow, brown, violet, navy, and different mixtures of the color. I am 5’4’’. My body is a normal size, not fat, but not super skinny.

                I can’t say for sure why I had chosen Addison, Texas. It was just a random choice. On my 16^th birthday, I decided to move from Atlanta, Georgia, which was two months ago. I have friends, that I met online, that live in Addison. Maybe that’s why I have moved here. I take online classes at home for my schooling, so I don’t have to associate with most of my generation’s society. For my sake, or perhaps theirs.

                I have always had these visions, daydreams, fantasies about sick things, such as murder, rape, and/or torture. The images just float into my mind out of nowhere. I absolutely loved the things I saw though. I want to see them, do them, and know what it’s like to make such a permanent scar on someone’s life, mind, and soul. I feel the need to do these sick, twisted, and terrible things. The fantasies in my head will soon become reality, and I can’t wait.

                I didn’t intend on meeting Tristan. I didn’t stalk him like he was my prey, like I had imagined me doing so to my first victim. It just happened.

                The day after I had moved into my apartment I rented, I decided to go find the nearest skate park around Lincoln Avenue. I had my black skateboard tucked under my arm as I walked. I found a skate park about two miles away, on Bedford Street. I approached the entry way to the park and set down my skateboard, getting ready to ride it. But just as I put my foot down on my board, a boy, traveling at a fast speed on his skateboard, crashed into me, face planting me hard into the concrete. 

                He tumbled over me and landed in the green and yellow grass.  I could feel that my face was scraped, all my eyes seen were red, and my atmosphere had changed to pure anger. Until I lifted my head and he was in my line of sight. My first look at the boy was utterly disarming. Maybe it was his hair or his eyes. Or the way he was repeatedly apologizing to me, and making amending promises.

                “Oh God, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and then you were all of a sudden just there. I’m sor-“ His voice was panic-like and nervous.

                “I’m okay. It’s fine, an accident.” I said as I reached up to touch my face, and felt little drops of blood.

                “Let me take you to the emergency room, or walk you home,” He was talking fast.

                “Really, I’m okay. It’s just a scratch. I’m not going home or to the hospital. I came here to skate and that’s what I’m going to do.” I got up and brushed myself off.

                He started to pull off his shirt and my eyes unintentionally moved to his stomach. I think he noticed. “Here, let me wipe off your face at least. You’re still bleeding a little. Okay? ,” he said as he stepped closer.

                I nodded, giving him unspoken permission. He gently touched the shirt to my face and cleaned the blood off of me.

                It took him a couple minutes, because he was being seriously slow and careful. I studied him while he worked and my thoughts were… Mmmm. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was lust. My feeling of lust for this boy isn’t what you think. I didn’t want to take him home and f**k him. I had an overwhelming desire to chain, tie, or cuff him somewhere and do unthinkable, inhuman, monstrous things to him. I wanted to hear him scream. His voice interrupted my erotic thoughts.

                “My name is Tristan, by the way.”  

Reviews

[Survivor Juggalo]

I must say, quite intriguing to say the least. Before I continue with my review I must apologize for my tardiness. I have been "out of the loop" for quite a while. Fell out of desire I suppose, felt I had no spark to create. I had an inkling to check my account, and seeing this. Seeing this has, how shall I say, peeked my desire once again. It reminds me of the thoughts that vex me on a constant basis, & makes me want to create again. Back to what I was saying. The fact that you had enough detail to create a perfect image in the mind of the reader, but not too much to let it drag on. The only thing I seen that put a flag in my head was in the prologue. Arousement, should be replaced with Arousal.