K/V: Victim
Name: Alexandria Brown
Age: 14
Sex: F
Characteristics: See Pic
Scene: While playing next to a creek, Alexandria finds you hiding in a makeshift tent in a thicket of trees. Unfortunately, for her, you are a convicted murderer who just managed to break out of prison several states over. You can't let a witness reveal your current location.

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>>4369

Our biggest operation was supposed to be quick, easy, and profitable. Pretty much the entire neighborhood – some upper class suburb full of rich snobs – was somewhere else for the Holidays. Ten of arrived in two different vans, and each person was supposed to break into a house and steal as much as possible. We hoped to make enough money to retire from our life of crime and live comfortably until we died. Most importantly, nobody was meant to get hurt.

For everyone else, things went smoothly. They looted their designated house, and emerged clutching bags full of expensive jewelry, gadgets, and even cash. I emerged with riches as well, but it came with guilt that would hang over my head to this day.

I swept through each room, tossing whatever looked valuable into one of the three burlap sacks I was carrying. I just finished ransacking the master bedroom and made my way to the bathroom. Before I could reach the door, the knob turned a woman emerged wrapped in a towel. She and I both stopped in our tracks and let out an audible gasp. In her state of shock the woman failed to notice the towel around her falling, and accidentally gave me a full view of her naked, wet, body.

Not that I particularly cared. In my own state of panic, sex was not on my mind. My thoughts were, "why was she there?", and "I need to get rid of her." Since we expected nobody to be home, none of us brought any firearms. I could have strangled her, but a struggle brought the risk of leaving hairs or DNA. It was my luck that whoever owned the room I just robbed had a large collection of daggers and swords.

I pulled one of the daggers from the sack, but hesitated – perhaps I could tie her up until we left?

I never got the chance to try. The initial shock wore off quickly, and she started huffing; I knew she was about to start screaming. Before she could, I slashed at her with the dagger. It ran across her throat, and blood sprayed everywhere. She collapsed to the floor with both hands over her throat, writhing and kicking her feet. She looked up at me, her brown eyes soaked with tears; she tried to say something, but an unintelligible gurgle was the only sound to escape her lips.

I merely stood there, mouth agape, as the poor woman thrashed about in a growing puddle of her own blood. Part of me wanted to call an ambulance, but I was too much of a coward to face the consequences. Another part of me wanted to jam the blade through her skull, to end her suffering. I just stood there, too scared to move, shivering like a child, and watched the life drain from her body. Her thrashing eventually slowed and stopped, replaced by the occasional spasm, before her body became completely still. It was the pitter-patter of piss hitting the floor, as her bladder emptied its' contents. Shit dripped from her asshole, and I decided at that point I was done; screw the contents of the bathroom.

Before I left the house, I went down to the kitchen to clean off as much blood as possible. I was the last one out – another minute and they probably would have left without me. There was a few specks of blood on my shirt, but it was dark and nobody said a thing.

By the time her body was found, about three weeks later, I had already relocated to Oregon. The news about the murder of Emma Simpson and the mass burglary filled the news slots for several weeks, before fading into history.