He was turning a corner, when the young woman ran into him. Uncertain and puzzled she looked and his pleasure kicked in. Like seeing him from above he pushed her back into the street, into the entrance of a house and frightened she fell backwards over stairs. He flipped open his pocket-knife and just pushed it into her belly. The way the blood spilled out, the world plunged and got numb. For a second he was caught but then he pulled it out and while the blood was running down the blade, he pushed it into her again and it was redirected from a rip bone. She didn't struggle at all, although she was still alive. Melvin had no eyes for her. He ripped open her blouse and with a final stroke pushed the blade into the spot he suspected the heart; she took her last breath and her head fell back. Glassy eyes and a look into nothingness and he just stood starring at her, the knife in his hand and his mouth open. 

He felt eternity, long and ancient, but then he heard footsteps in the hall, closed the knife and ran. 

Ran and didn't stop until he was out of air and leaned onto a tree. 

When he had calmed down he took the knife out of his pocket and slit the blade out. The view of the blood ran goosebumps over his body, he drew the blade nearer and smelled the metallic taste of the blood, he licked over it. 

Never. Never would he forget the sight of it.