Death Blooms By Yolanda Olson

I deal in beautiful things. I’m paid to create unique masterpieces and I enjoy my work. I’m the best there is because I’m patient, kind, and quick. I wear the mask of humanity when I need to, and I play the part of just another stranger walking past you on the street, but there’s something I want that I can’t quite seem to get my hands on. For all of the blood I shed—for all of the flesh I’ve stripped, there’s only one touch that I long to feel. I may be a master of manipulation, yet when it comes to the hope of something that’s just mine—something unexplainable toward another living creature that I long so desperately for, I’m a coward. But there’s only so many times I’ll be willing to stand by and watch what I want walk away from me before I acquire it. I’ve had enough patience and I’ve scolded myself more than once over this and I refuse to wait any longer. We belong together.