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The doctors took the bandages off for the first time, and Sandy looked at her new face. It wasn't perfect, she thought to herself, but in comparison to how she used to luck it was pretty close. Gone was her over sized nose, huge lips, puffy cheeks, and droopy eyes. In their place were firm, high cheeks, a quirky, cute nose, delicate, rose blossom lips, and wide blue eyes. She looked like a different person, she hardly recognized herself, and she loved it. It had never been fun, being a girl with a nice body and an ugly face. She had scrimped and saved for years to afford this surgery, so that she could have a face to match her form, and when she'd had enough, she had gone to the best doctor she could find (and afford) and shown them exactly what she had wanted. He'd delivered, too, this was exactly what she had asked for. Smiling at the face that she would in time come to know as her own, she thanked the doctor profusely and prepared to dazzle the world.
Waifish and thin, Kaitlin was not a typical child. She was so pale and appeared so undernourished that child services had contacted her parents repeatedly, and only after several weaks of observation were they always forced to acknowledge that her parents did nothing wrong, nothing at all, she simply looked that way. It had gotten to the point that the most recent pair of observers, who conducted almost a month of undercover observation, had written essay length notes for her file explaining just how caring her parents really were, and how voraciously the child ate, and that none of that seemed to change Kaitlin's gaunt appearance and unnatural paleness. Kaitlin herself didn't like the attention. Her reclusive nature matched her appearance, and though she was friendly enough once you got to know her, she extreme quiet meant that few other children approached her. She didn't mind, though, it meant she had more time for reading and learning. Assidiuous study for a 7 year old, perhaps, but it made her happy, so no one stopped it. All in all, no one really knew what to make of her.
No one knew what it was about her that attracted them, but people found it difficult not to think well of her. Certainly her welcoming smile was a factor, a friendly easiness that made her easy to talk to. It helped that she always seemed able to converse on whatever topic one wanted to speak on. However, it took time to notice trends in behavior, slight problems, things that were off, that tainted the package. Her ability to talk on these things were too perfect, and she was upsettingly agreeable with every body, even people she really shouldn't be. Everything seemed fine when as long as one didn't watch her talking with anybody else, but the more people she interacted with, the more it became clear that she would say anything so as not to offend, or even disagree. Then there was her behavior. She flirted with every one, while committing herself to nothing. It was easy to think, it's only me, she's interested in me, but a sense of disquiet would grow with time, realizing slowly that she acted that way with everyone. Some people are best only in small doses, some people are better left at arms length, and she was just such a person.
You notice details you never would normally when you are about to die. I had been told that before, but I never really took it seriously. However, now that I lay, back against the wall, ass on the ground, staring up at the barrel of a gun, no where to run, no where to hide, I couldn't deny that my senses were definitely heightened. His hair was jet black and kind of slimy looking, like he hadn't washed it in some time, or as if he had used way to much hair gel. His coat was long and black and did much to hid just how muscled he was, but signs of it still showed, the way his arms filled out the sleeves of the coat, just how tightly his shirt was pulled, flat over a toned stomach. The gun was black and caught the faint light in the alley, the barrel gleaming slightly. The smell of garbage permeated the ally, wrinkling my nose, but the man didn't notice. His face was impassive and disinterested, slightly bored even, as if he had many places he'd rather be but he had to finish taking out the garbage first. I was the garbage. I suppose I had brought this on myself. In these, the last moments of my life, though, all I could think was how tall my killer was compared to my prone position, and how confidently he held his gun. Silly things to think, I suppose, but no one would ever know that.
Waifish and thin, Kaitlin was not a typical child. She was so pale and appeared so undernourished that child services had contacted her parents repeatedly, and only after several weaks of observation were they always forced to acknowledge that her parents did nothing wrong, nothing at all, she simply looked that way. It had gotten to the point that the most recent pair of observers, who conducted almost a month of undercover observation, had written essay length notes for her file explaining just how caring her parents really were, and how voraciously the child ate, and that none of that seemed to change Kaitlin's gaunt appearance and unnatural paleness. Kaitlin herself didn't like the attention. Her reclusive nature matched her appearance, and though she was friendly enough once you got to know her, she extreme quiet meant that few other children approached her. She didn't mind, though, it meant she had more time for reading and learning. Assidiuous study for a 7 year old, perhaps, but it made her happy, so no one stopped it. All in all, no one really knew what to make of her.
No one knew what it was about her that attracted them, but people found it difficult not to think well of her. Certainly her welcoming smile was a factor, a friendly easiness that made her easy to talk to. It helped that she always seemed able to converse on whatever topic one wanted to speak on. However, it took time to notice trends in behavior, slight problems, things that were off, that tainted the package. Her ability to talk on these things were too perfect, and she was upsettingly agreeable with every body, even people she really shouldn't be. Everything seemed fine when as long as one didn't watch her talking with anybody else, but the more people she interacted with, the more it became clear that she would say anything so as not to offend, or even disagree. Then there was her behavior. She flirted with every one, while committing herself to nothing. It was easy to think, it's only me, she's interested in me, but a sense of disquiet would grow with time, realizing slowly that she acted that way with everyone. Some people are best only in small doses, some people are better left at arms length, and she was just such a person.
You notice details you never would normally when you are about to die. I had been told that before, but I never really took it seriously. However, now that I lay, back against the wall, ass on the ground, staring up at the barrel of a gun, no where to run, no where to hide, I couldn't deny that my senses were definitely heightened. His hair was jet black and kind of slimy looking, like he hadn't washed it in some time, or as if he had used way to much hair gel. His coat was long and black and did much to hid just how muscled he was, but signs of it still showed, the way his arms filled out the sleeves of the coat, just how tightly his shirt was pulled, flat over a toned stomach. The gun was black and caught the faint light in the alley, the barrel gleaming slightly. The smell of garbage permeated the ally, wrinkling my nose, but the man didn't notice. His face was impassive and disinterested, slightly bored even, as if he had many places he'd rather be but he had to finish taking out the garbage first. I was the garbage. I suppose I had brought this on myself. In these, the last moments of my life, though, all I could think was how tall my killer was compared to my prone position, and how confidently he held his gun. Silly things to think, I suppose, but no one would ever know that.
