Blood dripped from her mangled frame onto the floor, tainting the carpet she was carefully placed on. Her torso was twisted hideously, legs sticking out at abnormal angles, face contorted in terror, eyes wide, cheeks tearstained, mouth gaping in a silent plea for salvation.
Singing a soft lullaby, he stroked her matted crimson hair like a loving mother would her child. The pillow cushioning her head was bloody, a stark contrast to the original clean white. He smiled to himself, rising to admire his work. Walking over her body, he made his way to the table against the wall to retrieve his camera. He had bought a new reel of film earlier that afternoon when he was grocery shopping with his mother and younger sister. He had been saving this final shot, resisting temptation to finish the reel. He knew this last picture would be worth the wait.
From his bag, he took out a tube of lipstick, one shade darker than the blood seeping from her wounds. Sauntering to her violated cadaver, he gently