I sat outside the white suburban house, watching as the only light slowly began to fade. I have been sitting here for hours. It’s time. I got out of the car and slowly walked around the house, opening the back door with the weapon of death in hand. I creaked up the stairs, up into her bedroom, its her, her, the most perfect angel. I stood there and watched her sleep, prowling around like a cheetah stalking his prey. I slowly lifted my feet one after another, walking, closer and closer. And with a small dreadful creak of the floor she woke up slowly, in the darkness, I froze, not allowing myself to make a sound; hearing her moving around, and with a sigh she finally stopped and laid there, she can feel my presence, the staring, the watching. My eyes stayed on her, until she finally felt comfortable enough to sleep. I moved in closer, grabbing the blade harder, imagining the screams of fear come from her mouth, the look of terror in her eyes, feeling her life slowly come to an end with each strike of my blade.