My prompt for this was “write something f*cked up.” I channeled my inner Joe Hill.
He held her by the neck as he started to cut away at her skin. Diana was four years old, with olive skin and a mass of curly black hair. She was unconscious, tired from all the crying, exhausted from struggling against the man. After the second cut, when he started to lift her skin away, she screamed filling the room in his apartment. No one would bother to check on the screaming even though he lived in a high rise with neighbors at every turn. He watched horror movies that he made to sure play at maximum volume, so that the bass and the screams would rattle the shades in the apartments around him.
He smiled to himself as her skin slowly came off. He looked at her palm, the blood dripping from it. He kissed it, staining his lips and teeth. He smiled at Diana as she sobbed through the sting of exposed flesh. There was no madness in his eyes. He was calm and he was happy.
Behind him his dog barked, and licked his chops. The man turned to the dog, and back at Diana. “I almost forgot,” he said, “it’s Sparky’s dinner time.” He picked up the knife he had put down. “Wanna feed Sparky, Diana?” She did not know what to do, at four years old what could you think. She assumed a distraction would tear the man away from her, hat the man would release her, but he held her tighter, his nails digging into her throat. “Do you wanna feed Sparky?” He asked again. Diana struggled to nod the man held her neck tight. She did, she wanted to feed him, and maybe the doggy would save her.
The man smiled, “Okay, let’s feed Sparky.” Diana almost sighed in relieve, and then she felt the knife dig into her stomach and slice across. She saw, but did not understand that what fell to the floor in a cascade were her intestines. Sparky joyously leaped into his dinner.
The man continued to smile patting Sparky on the head. “Good boy, we’ll have a bath after dinner.”