Kill #1:
Boys Will Be Boys
By Rose
A young girl, only in her late twenties
was sighing as she began her work for that day. It felt a bit tragic, having to
perform this autopsy. Still, she had to do her job right? Not to mention, as
perverted as it sounded, it would answer a few lingering questions as she eyed
the corpse lying still on the metal table in front of her. To anyone else, it
would be morbid to turn on the radio. But for Alyssa, she’d long become immune
to it.
Music began to play, and she simply smiled as she
pulled the sheet off the body. She stared down into the face of Nickolas Gene
Carter, undoubtedly the most famous member of the Backstreet Boys. He was still
flat out gorgeous, even in death. She never admitted aloud to any of her
friends, since they had all ditched their fandoms for the group back when they
were teens, but she always had a huge crush on him. She kept up with the group
every chance she had, and even owned Nick’s solo album, released just before
his untimely demise.
His death had been splashed across the cover of
every magazine. How could it not be? The trick was that they weren’t quite sure
what killed him. It was at this fair, and according to his band mates who had
witnessed the incident, he’d just dropped to the floor, dead as a doornail.
A new song began to play, it was a mix CD she’d
made some time ago; she forgot exactly what tracks were on it. Still, the song
that followed was a bit ironic. She sang along, softly, as she reached for her
scalpel blade.
“Boys will be boys…hey…” She sang to
herself as she glanced around for it. “You’ve got something so incredible in
my eyes…my heart starts pumping, whenever you’re around...”
When her back was turned, the eyes shot open.
Nick’s gaze skipped around the room, trying to figure out exactly where he was.
It didn’t take long to make the connection. He was in the morgue yet again.
It was always like this. Somehow, someway, he would be killed again and again.
Each time more horrific than the last. A day later he would wake up, sneak out
of the morgue, or swim his way to shore from the ocean. Basically he had to
find his way back from wherever he'd been killed. People who he knew saw him
die, would have forgotten about it completely. It never made any sense.
He was tired of the pain.
He was tired of the suffering.
He was so tired of the dying.
Nick lay there on the table, suddenly furious at
his fate. Why was this happening to him? Was this some twisted price he had to
pay? Because of how blessed his life was, before this started happening? His life
wasn’t like this once. He wasn’t some strange fluke that kept rising from the
dead as if it never happened. Before he was famous, he was normal.
The singing of the coroner caught his attention before he could follow that
line of thought any further.
“I hear you saying, that you think that we
should waaiiiiit…” She sang happily. He rose in a flash, rushing at the
woman and slamming her against the wall. Her eyes widened in shock, lit up by
fear as he gripped her shoulders tightly, keeping her pinned. It was the fans’ fault.
That was a fact. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure. But he knew.
“You’re…you’re dead!”
Nick smirked. What if he killed the fans? One by
one, just like he was killed. Maybe then, it would stop. And even if it didn’t
stop, Nick figured he’d have some fun along the way. So many girls to kill, so
many bodies to leave in his wake.
“I ain’t one to listen. You know how it is, boys
will be boys.”
Maybe she knew what was coming; maybe she sensed
it from the look in his eyes. She began to whimper. “No, no please…”
He reached for her scalpel, and swiftly slit her
throat. Blood splattered across the wall, on his clothes, and ran from her neck
freely. Her hands weakly reached for her throat as she choked and sputtered.
Soon enough, her body fell limp and he tossed it on the floor. He laughed as he
stared down at her body, blood still pooling around it on the ground.
“One down…so many, many more to go.”
***