Voice - Prologue

2 weeks had passed since the murder of Iva Hardy.

Nearing September, the classroom was very much quiet than usual even for the notion which class is over.

There's a gas heater at the corner of the classroom. I just turned it off, but there is this perculiar scent unique to the instrument, filling the atmosphere of the season. This smell, was sufficient in killing our brain cells. I read a news in the morning; a boy died of carbon monoxide poisoning out of gas heater.

I opened the window, making air for the room. The chilly autumnal wind meets and brought away the unpleasant smell.

Just when I prepare to pack and leave, I felt the presence of someone standing behind me. I turn my back, and realised it was Sylvia.

"I have something to show you before you leave."

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My first introduction to Sylvia was when we ended up in the same class earlier this year. I am really surprised that there are others in this world, who could live an unprepurbed live, in total ignorance and isolation with others.

Even during breaktime, even walking in the veranda; she would shun others.

In short she doesn't like crowds.

Only the two of us exhibits this trait in our class. Even so, I didn't coldly disregard other classmates merry makings. I would reply, even joked; such is the minimum I would do to lead a normal life.

However, these superficial socializing and the smiles I gave, were essentially, lies.

She must have noticed that part of me when we first known each other.

"Could you teach me how to do that?"

She said motionless, one day after school. Pinching her cheeks; while it seemed childish, she punish herself for her inability of showing emotional expression. It was 5 months ago, after which we would talk from time to time.

Sylvia wore only black, everything from her long straight hair to the tip of her shoes was wrapped in darkness. In stark contrast, her skin is very much fairer than anyone I have seen. Her hands are as if made of porcelain. This combined her eccentric personality gave her an atmosphere of dark magic.

Since Sylvia was quite beautiful, I heard that many people once tried to date her. However, after that incident not long ago, things began to slowly change.

A teacher in school had tried to sexually assault her. However, she quickly subdued him with a can of pepper spray, before proceeding to beat him up with a nearby chair, emotionless. I had seen the entire process, and after that I noticed no guy dared to approach her.

Some people had initially thought we were dating each other, until they realized that we weren’t particularly close, even during our conversations. On the contrary, we each seemed to wear condescending looks upon our faces whenever we were conversing, so naturally there were many who wondered what was my true relationship with Sylvia.

It's not that her face was less expressive than that of normal people. For example, when happily reading a book about the horrific murder of 52 women and children in Russia. There was no trace of the deathly green face she had when in the midst of noisy classmates. Rather, her eyes sparkled.

Only when talking to Sylvia would I not fake my facial expressions. If I was talking to someone else, they would probably wonder why I had such a blank, unsmiling expression. When talking with her, there was no problem with that.

Perhaps she had similar reasons, because during idle times, she would choose to speak with me.
We both disliked standing out. In the classroom, we were hidden in the shadow of our boisterous classmates; we quietly lived our lives.

We shared a unique passion. We enjoy hardcore carnography, homocide episodes, snuff films, pictures that depicts death and torture.

We are lovers of bloodshed and gore, you can hardly find anyone who shared the same passion of watching "Salo, 120 days of Sodom", or "Man Behind the Sun".

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Iva's body was found 2 weeks ago at a delapitated premise in the city. Not far from my house, it used to be a hospital. Travel from the city center to the mountain, there's a crossing between the mainway and a gravel path, there's a quiet place at the end of the road. The hospital was located there. Behind the rusty wire fence, that original building stood there; alone, without any nearby buildings, only accompanied by strands of yellowy grass.

3 primary school boys found the body when there are seek thrills at the site. It is rumoured that they are still receiving psychiatric rehabilitation.

The media is in a frenzy when the body is discovered. But the news started to settle, we didn't know how far police had investigated the incident.

The best of my knowledge comes from the newspaper which described how the body was found and her personal picture before her death.

She had a straight black, long hair. Her smile shows that she had a white, slightly pronouced canine teeth.

I wondered how far the police had gone through their investigation?

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Twillight.

The lessons is over, everyone rushed to the school gate as I seen through the window. A reflection show a girl, with straight, long hair and pale complexion.

Only the 2 of us left in the classroom.

"You said you have something to show me, what was it?"

"Picture, Picture of a dead body"

Everyone had their own way of life; just as it would be hard for others to understand a particular way of life they aren't leading.

Sylvia and I shared a peculiar way of living,very much beyond reasonable fortitude. In short, in our way of life; we often exchange pictures of dead bodies in our collection.

She took out an A4 sized paper from her bag. It was a glossy paper, with sharp printing surface.

The picture was taken from a crude, concrete room. An initial glance would give you a flash of red.

There's a table in the middle of the picture; the surface of the table, surroundings, ceiling and the wall is smeared with red. Not a particular bright red we encounter in everyday life, it gleams from the dark corner of the room where light doesn't reach. It was if described, blackish red, a dark red colour.

She lies on top of that table.

"...This is Iva Hardy's...."

Sylvia slightly moved her eyebrows. Though she doesn't exhibit any facial expression, she must had a surprise as I notice.

"You do know much."

"You found it on the internet?"

"Someone pass it to me. When I am looking for information of the incident, a passerby hand it to me. It is said to be her picture, I'm not sure about it."

Sylvia is a beautiful girl, not short of flirtation when she walk on the street. However, no one would get close to her in our school, as everyone knew that she is not interested in such.

It was much different this time. Maybe someone noticed her cuttings of peculiar news and articles in places like the library, they might seek to get close to her by this idiom.

"You are great, you can recognise her from your first glance..."

Well, the picture...

Every part which resembles a human...

I explained that I am merely guessing. From the severed head placed on top of the table; I am guessing it from her hair style and rear impression.

"Oh, I see" She nodded in understanding.

I asked her about the person who gave her the picture, but she refused to reveal anything. I decided to search for it on my own on the internet.

I looked through the window and said.

"There are people who kills, and there are people who get killed."

"Why would you say that."

There are people who kills without apparent reason. It might be evolve from their development, maybe they are born to be killers. These aren't important, the key is how they hide their true nature in the society and live like others.

There would be a day where they couldn't surpress their desire to kill; when such happens, they began their huntings in the society.

I might be one of them.

At that moment, I would not treat others as human beings, but logs, an object.

"Hey."

I turned and look into her eyes.

"Wasn't you who killed her?"

"Look, the hairstyle on the picture; its permed and coloured. Very much different from what newspaper had published."

I just realised that she's quite intelligent from what she said today.

From the depth of her eyes, I perceive that she's one that seen people as peoples. I believe she wouldn't kill; though her interest is peculiar from others. She's still normal in the general sense.

Even though I bear alot of similarities with Sylvia. We are totally different on this aspect, distinctively different. It decides whether we are human beings.

She belongs to the human species, always playing the role of a prey.

I marked a stark contrast on this aspect.

"The picture where she had permed her hair was published before, only that it wasn't within her family's approval that it didn't receive as much publication."

She nodded


I return to my room at the second floor, spending a few hours of searching. The atmosphere is getting more and more intense. In the end, I couldn't find anything.

I gave up the search, took out an ornate dagger from my shelf. Staring at my face reflected on the dagger. The passing of wind outside the window, was as if howling of the victims under this dagger.

The dagger consciously summons me, or more accurately, summons what hidden inside me. Upon looking at the reflection of myself on the dagger I hear my own voice. Streetlights shimmer on the nightsky from my window.

Unsupposely sound pass on from the dagger on my hand. I would perceive that this is its thirst of blood.

I lied to Sylvia, the picture of Iva with her permed hair, had never published before.



...To be Continued.