• The sky was dimly lit by the moon’s eerie glow making the fog look even more menacing. A girl is standing with almost hollow eyes showing no emotion at all, whilst in her hand she clutches a knife. With her black hair flowing in the wind and her skin white as chalk her frightening presence is enough to chill the blood of any normal person. Suddenly, she’s gone like the wind.

    Turn around.

    Anyone would be frozen with fear if they came face to face with the emotionless creature. Escape does not become an option when there’s a knife at your throat.

    “What are you?” they all would ask.

    “I am nothing,” her monotonous voice would reply, “I am a shell.”

    And with a scream lost in the heavy fog another victim is claimed. The thick and still warm blood of the innocent traveller cascades down the shining blade. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, her eyes betray hints of emotion as they shine with excitement if only for the briefest of moments. Her lithe figure fades into the night as the victim continues to bleed.

    And the victim does not stop bleeding. There are many things in life, perhaps even death, that we cannot control. Every day billions of words are spoken, but how many will be heard? Sometimes there is no need for words. Sometimes words will fail and sometimes we will hear things that are not meant to be heard. We can’t control that.

    As the traveller lay dying on the ground soiled by his own blood he can’t control the chill that creeps up his spine, the emotions that take hold of him and the burning pain that forces him to writhe in agony. He realises that soon enough he will fade as the girl had done, his face will mimic her once expressionless one and perhaps his skin will become akin to ivory of her own.

    He was not scared.

    Pain was his only friend as his blunt nails dug into the dirt around him.

    Pain was constant and unrelenting.

    Pain controlled his breathing, forced his limbs to move and contorted his face.

    Pain was dominant.

    Pain was many things, but it was not fear.

    Fear rested its hands on his shoulders only when she had smiled.