Stories by Kris

Prompt:  You are a serial killer. Lately, you can't help but notice that you've been killing the same person over and over again. Unbeknownst to you, this person is actually an immortal who's constantly been checking to see if they can die yet by purposefully becoming your target. __&&__ I don't really care about my victims except to make sure that they fall into whatever criteria I am into at the time which is why I believe it takes me so long to notice. My preferred victims are blue-eyed males. I have traveled all around killing and I revel in it. Maybe it's because I only pay attention to the eyes that I didn't notice but then I get the weird feeling that all the guys I have killed recently have the same shade of blue eyes. Weird. I start paying attention to their faces as well. Three or four victims later I have a weird feeling of deja-vu every time I kill them. My next victim, this time a doctor, looks nervous when I ask him if he has a

Prompt: A serial killer who finds their victims through dating apps has finally found their next victim. They'd been texting for a while and had planned what would have been a fatal first date, but then... The country went on lockdown. The killer keeps in touch with them while in quarantine figuring that they may as well hang on to a potential future victim. Except...They're kinda starting to like this one. ----------- I have never felt like this before. All the other victims, men and women because I am not that picky, had been nothing more than prey. I know how I look; I know how to act and I know how to make them think I am their dream girl. I don't do it often because then it would get boring like my ‘a doctor a day’ program. It was fun, the risk and thrill of the deadline for each victim but it got boring after the thirteenth one. One of my co-workers who thought that we were 'friends' introduced me to a dating app. I had been plotting to guide him to

"The arena gates will be opening soon..." my handler says, "Have you decided on your weapon?" I look down. I can't meet his eyes. The sadness and self-loathing descend on me like a thick fog. "My depression," I reply quietly. What else do I need? "A bold choice," comments my handler. I thought about telling him that it's not really a choice at all but I don't deserve the safety of any excuse. The arena gates open and I ignore the whispered wishes from my handlers.  Why did I have to be depressed today?  I stepped into the arena. The crowds were cheering loud until then and the silence that fell upon seeing me was telling. I looked down refusing to look at anyone else. Why did everyone hate me so? I deserved it for being such a monster but still, I wished there was someone who loved me. My opponent this time is a young female with lithe muscles and beautiful burgundy eyes. There is a fire in her eyes that says t