A Serenade For The Innocent 45 Chris

It is known that people in this small town are not very fond of the night time, not because of any particular deep-rooted tradition they held that does not coincide well with the darkness of the night. Their fear of stepping out of their home when the moon is the only light s.h.i.+ning upon the night sky paralyzed them. It is all because of the looming darkness. The darkness that the shadows of the mountain near their homes cast. All of them are afraid, and none of them wishes to leave their homes in the nocturnal embrace of the evening.

Except for Chris.

He is a man of weak stature and has nothing going on for him except for his profound love for the mountains when the black dye of the evening sky was the only color looming on the lush forest. The beauty of the landscape enchants him during the night. Chris always took a leisurely stroll outside to feel the caress of nature in all his five senses. He may be a weak man with a weak const.i.tution, but he surely is a person of a macabre taste.

The boy had been doing this for a long time now. In his eighteen years of living in this world, he had been doing this nightly walk of his for almost a decade. Always he would have a bright smile in his face. Always he would be filled with happiness in the company of the darkness, but in the many years he had spent doing his nightly visits to the nearby mountains, this might be the one he would remember the most in the limited time he had left in this world.

This is also the only time he would feel afraid of being in the confines of the mountain he once loved.

For he has encountered the man that would soon put a dot on the tale of his life.

That night, under the silver gleam of the pale moonlight, Chris saw Subject 1 dragging the lifeless body of a woman covered with blood and mud in the wet soil of the mountain. Surrounding them is the nearby trees, towering over the feeble body of Chris as he slowly moved the lantern in his hand upward to meet the eye of the man pulling the corpse of a familiar woman. As he panted deeply while feeling his sweat dripping throughout his body, Chris saw the soulless eyes of the murderer in front of him, along with the man's expressionless face.

At that very moment, the only thing in Chris' mind is the acceptance that he cannot run away from this bloodied murderer with his weak body and the recognition that this night will be the night where he will drop dead with no one remembering his name. After all, his family is not fond of him, he has no friends, and he rarely leaves the house in the morning where there are people outside for him to meet. He doesn't even know Mary, and he's probably one of the few people who haven't f.u.c.ked her silly. The point is that the beating of his heart lessened, and his panting slowly subsided as he leaned his back on a nearby tree.

The man in front of him dropped the feet of the woman he was dragging after seeing Chris. He knows to himself that he is not gay, but then again, the man is also unsure if he's really straight. All the man knows is that he has a quality that he likes, and he only finds such a unique variety in a woman. He couldn't quite articulate what is it precisely that drove him insane with the bodies of the people he likes. All he knows is that he has a subconscious switch in his mind that would snap open when it recognized those specific attributes.

And more than anything, in the very first time in his life, Subject 1 drooled over the body of another man consciously and willingly. Looking at Chris' thin body, small height, pale skin, and feminine features from his head down to his feet, Subject 1 knew that he has to own this person regardless of who he is and what his gender might be. There is just something within his mind that clicked after seeing this boy, and he couldn't quite explain what that is. He wanted to make this boy his property, but he doesn't have the time to do so. Kidnapping him would need a lot of work; he needs to tie him up, gag him, feed him while he's struggling, oh, and let's not even talk about the fact that Chris would definitely struggle if the man kidnapped him.

Contrary to what Chris believes, countless thoughts are running throughout the mind of this expressionless man. Although he was just staring there at him in front of the woman he had just murdered, his mind is still a mess of choices between kidnapping this boy or murdering him right there and then. 

He's pondering upon himself.

Killing Chris is unnecessary. Refusing to kill Chris will mean that the people will catch him. Leaving now is not an option, for he wanted to display Mary's body for everyone to see.

However, the man wanted him. The man wanted him so bad that he could hear his heart punching through his ribs, begging him to release his tension and break the boy.

Break the boy!

And break the boy, he did. He ran towards Chris. It made the boy shriek with the victim's eyes bulging out of its socket as he pushed his back onto the tree he was leaning on as hard as he can as if trying to bury himself onto the log. The sound of heavy steps on the dry leaves and the wet soil permeated throughout the small world between Chris and Subject 1 as the man ran towards him at full speed.

The man then wrapped his hands around Chris' soft, thin, and pale neck tight, gripping it as if he wanted to squash it with both his hands like a fruit in between his palms. The boy stuck his tongue out with his spit drooling out his agape mouth while his pupils were hitting the roof of his eye socket. He kicked the soil and the dry leaves around him in vain as he feels the fear seeping through his bones while he gradually realizes that he is losing the oxygen in his body. Chris scratched the strong hands around his neck, bruising the man's skin a bit, but the boy was still not at all strong to resist him. Although Subject 1 loved the gap between his strength and the feebleness of the boy, he could not quite relish the fact that he still wouldn't die even after a few more moments. Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.

The man would whisper to himself the words 'why wouldn't he die,' and the boy's inherent struggle to go against him till the very end is not at all a pleasing sight. The man growled as he gritted his teeth while his grip on the boy's neck tightened even further; he then saw the boy's head tilting a little bit as his expression grew even more demented and distorted than ever before. The man grimaced while trying to contain his anger from exploding into a booming scream that would echo throughout the mountains. He's only happy that Chris did not scream and just accepted the inevitability of his death, but nevertheless, he's still not dead.

And then, as he tightened his hand even further while Chris' head tilted in an even weirder position, it happened.

Crack.

As Chris' panting subsided and his pale skin grew even whiter, the man realized that he had failed to suffocate the boy. Instead, he had broken his neck.

That.

That turned him on.

I know!

It's f.u.c.ked up!

But there's nothing ordinary about this report, to begin with, and frankly, you should have expected this.

Then again, your feelings about Subject 1 is not the limelight here. We are talking about how h.o.r.n.y the man felt when he heard the boy's neck snap like a wafer sandwich.

He fumed; he blushed; he couldn't quite get over it. The man felt so overcome with the feeling he had felt at that moment while he has his arms around his weak, pale, thin neck. Oh, he found the boy's neck so, so appealing, and even tastier than the sight of woman's genitalia.

Thus, after displaying Mary's corpse on the fabled tree that the villagers held dear, Subject 1 carried the body of the dead boy in his hands, like a prince delivering his princess to his bedchamber. The man slowly and gently laid Chris' body on his bed. Then, he slightly loosened the hardened and pained expression on the boy's corpse to change it into the look of an innocent person's calm expression. Subject 1 pulled Chris' eyes shut, closed his mouth by pus.h.i.+ng his jaws up, and then slowly pulled Chris' cheeks to form an angelic smile on the feminine outline of the boy's face.

Then the man slowly climbed on top of Chris while caressing his broken neck; yes, his full attention is on the boy's neck.

Throughout the night, before the sun of the morning dawn rises to shower the world with its full gleam, the man licked and touched and bit the boy's neck, not minding the smell of his corpse all over his van.

While everyone in the village was so fixated on the sight of Mary's corpse, he took this initiative to let Chris' body flow on a nearby river by putting him on top of a wooden raft he had made in a hurry. Before releasing the boy's corpse to the elements of nature, he kissed the boy's broken neck one last time and left it drifting on the ravaging flow of the river.

He didn't know his name. But he loves his neck.

"Poor boy." He mutters to himself while he felt the way his neck felt in his hands. "Poor, poor neck boy."

And he kept thinking about the boy's broken neck all day while he looks for the perfect person to dominate.

That was when he met Laura.