My new character creation. Jimi Taylor. This is the start of a short story that I'm writing. It's meant to give the reader a taste of what Jimi is like. If you think he's a murderous jackass that deserves to die but can't help to see a faint bit of humanity in him, then congratulations you have the ability to spot the obvious.
“You spin me right round baby, right round like a record baby, right round, round, round, round.” Marilyn Manson kept singing in his ears.
It was a beautiful summer day. July 17th. A good day like so many others.
“You spin me right round baby, right round like a record baby, right round, round, round, round,” Jimi sang to himself.
He looked out the window into the back yard. The noon sun shown brightly on the swings and various toys left on the lawn. He couldn't see past the fence but he knew that there were people and cars moving about just past it.
He turned, while wiping his knife. He stared at the bodies on the floor. The man with his stomach cut open and bleeding on the ground. His wife with her throat slit and broken limbs besides him. And of course there were the children that stumbled in unexpectedly and he had to deal with them quickly and messily while the dying woman laid on the ground watching.
Jimi wasn't happy because the children had ruined the mood he had set. And then she died before the real fun could start.
“Oh well,” he said.
He turned to the window and looked out once more. Then he heard the scrape of fingernails on the floor.
One's still alive, he thought.
He turned to the puppy under the chair. It's dark terrified eyes looked up at him pleading for its life.
Jimi looked at the dog. Then at the blade. Then at the dog again.
He approached it and grabbed its neck, then stuck the blade in stealing the life from it.
Well he thought about it anyway, right before he let the dog out the back door releasing it to freedom without a scratch.
"Damn puppy-dog eyes," he whispered.
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