Sam

Sam



Sam was another brand of Beastie completely. When she thought back to all the other men she'd dealt with over the years, they didn't even compare to the Vile that Sam was. Sam was the sort of Vile even the most well adjusted person wanted to split open and bleed out. Because he did bad things to good people and that was something she herself could never stand. She did bad things to bad people because they deserved to suffer, deserved to burn in pain and cry, shriek, die. Fuck 'em. That's all she could ever think afterwards. Though admittedly is was a little more eloquent than that but it all boiled down to the same thing. They deserved what they got and when she met her end she knew she'd deserve everything she got in that moment and after. Because whether she was doing it to good or bad people, she was still doing bad things. And who was she to judge whether they were good or bad people anyway? Only God could do that. Ha! God couldn't even stop the world from burning. He couldn't keep the paradise he'd created from dying at the hands of his beloved human race. When judgement day came for her, she would accept whatever she was given, but until then she would judge as she saw fit. And She saw Sam as an evil. A pure evil. And God did she want to kill the son-of-a-bitch. From the first moment she realised what the Devil was doing, she was ready to rip out his heart and watch as it stopped beating, watch as the hole in his chest spewed a river of blood. It would be beautiful in more ways than she had ever imagined and perhaps when the Devil was finished bleeding she would bathe in it, roll around before it sank into the ground. And when she stood up it would drip from her like rain water, dirty and slightly uncomfortable. It would stain the ground as she walked away like a treasure trail for any unknowing person who fancied themselves a regular Sherlock. They'd love what they found, a Dirty Little Beastie broken at the seams, organs spilling out like sweeties from a paper bag and a pool of bloody syrup on the floor with that trail of wet red footprints leading away from it. Perfect little crime scene for any would be detective. And just maybe they'd follow the footsteps like Hansels breadcrumbs until they came upon the Witch's Sister's house. They'd find her sitting at the table helping her make pies Mrs. Lovett style and eating Peanut Tarts that tasted just a bit funny, like old peanuts and sugar and blood. And they'd challenge her because that's what Justice did, to the winner would go the spoils.

She'd win because no armchair detective would ever have a chance, and the spoils? Brain matter as wallpaper perhaps? Or maybe she'd relinquish her win over to the Witch's Sister to bake into more pies for the little Kiddies that passed.

But she was getting dreadfully off track again, wasn't she? The Dirty Little Beastie- Sam- was the brand of Vile she liked to end execution style, bullet to the head like Claudia, strung up like Heather, decapitated like Sophie. He was a destroyer of something that should never be tainted. Childhood. Kiddies are never innocent, they see the joy in sadism, they giggle in glee as others hurt and conjure up filthy images in their mind of death and destruction and sex because they don't know they aren't supposed to. But Kiddies are supposed to be left alone, left to enjoy the sanctuary whilst they have it, because it simply never lasts. They're supposed to relish in their naïvety, think bad thoughts all day and dream of Monsters at night. But sometimes, they aren't allowed because people like Sam take their rights away from them. People like Sam grab and tear and shrink that naivety until it doesn't fit any more. And then the child is just left wondering in the grey area, trying to figure out what has happened to them and when it had all gone wrong? But how were they supposed to know? They could barely tell the time, let alone try to figure out the answer to all life's problems. It was unnecessarily cruel what people like Sam did. And She had to stop it. So she started at Sam.

Little Blondie had been wondering alone in that grey area when she'd happened upon her. She'd sat down next to her on the park bench despite her instincts telling her that her lack of experience with children would cause this to fuck up something chronic. But she stayed put all the same, asked her what the problem was. Stayed all soothing voices and consoling murmurs as she looked up at her and spluttered out that her big brothers friend was mean and wouldn't leave her alone. Ah, the ease of childhood, if only that had been her biggest problem when she'd been her age. But she'd bite. What was it this boy did that was so mean? Touched her, and she didn't like it but he wouldn't stop. Oh. Well that was a different story wasn't it. Touching little Kiddies? Naughty boy. Why didn't she like it? Well, because it made her uncomfortable, because nobody had ever done it before and she didn't like it and she wanted him to stop, but he wouldn't. Tilt of the head and that creepy smile that was really no more than a twitch of the lips. Sounds like the boy needed to be taught a lesson in what it felt like when someone didn't stop when asked. What was this boys name, where did he live? Because she knew someone who could make it stop you see. Oh. Sam, his name was Sam. Like taking candy from a sleeping baby. She'd have to pay Sam a visit.

Little Blondie never saw the scary lady again, but she never saw Sam again either. Her Mummy Dearest told her Sam had been in an accident and had passed away. Not true. There had been no accident. She'd gone round to visit the Beastie and ended up smashing his cranium with a baseball bat instead. And then admittedly she'd gone a little far, carved the heart from his chest like she'd fantasised about, watched the gaping hole well with blood, and then she'd pulled his ribs out one by one, removed his internal organs and mashed them up into a Beastie Cake. She would have left it at that if he'd been any other brand of Vile, but he wasn't and so she took the knife she'd used to carve his heart out, cut through the Monsters dick and tossed it into the gaping wound where his heart should have been. End of story, no accident and he most certainly hadn't 'passed away'. That held an innocence, a niceness. No. Sam had gone straight down to hell to be Lucifer's Bitch.

Sucks to be Sam.