The killers were watching. They were searching for their next victim.
They were like hawks, and just like true hawks, they were marking their next victim. Their eyes were traveling through the whole backyard where the mice were playing, enjoying their freedom.
“Liar, liar pants on fire. Don’t you know that lying is a sin, you liar?” The mice were dancing in a circle, singing the line again and again. They were young and naive. They didn’t know what was going to happen to them.
The first one with hair bright as God’s light, and eyes blue as the heaven’s sky bit his lower lip and watched the little mice playing. He enjoyed watching them. It brought him the light that he needed to survive the week until he finally would experience God’s love on Sunday during the service.
While the second one with hair dark as crows feathers and eyes black as a swamp, taped the fence with the tip of his fingers, still watching. Both of them were nervous about searching the one who was worthy of their game.
Pure to be exact.
Someone who looked innocent, and at the same time who could be worthy of their game.
The soft sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played in the background of the room while the two of them were still watching the mice below them.
The mice were talking, playing, leading the wheel. They couldn’t see them.
The two of them were standing behind the fence, on the third floor, glaring at them behind a small hole that even a finger couldn’t fit in, but it was enough for them to see.
The walls around them were covered with different torture devices. Toys. Like they love to call them.
They enjoyed playing with them. Punishing the little mice who wouldn’t be worthy of God. Jesus. The holy trinity.
In the center of the room, there was a small bench, tall enough for a young child leaning over it. And in front of it, Jesus’s cross was standing. But this cross was different. On this cross, Jesus didn’t have his head on his neck because the ones who play the game aren’t worthy to stand in front of him.
The old shattered door opened, and a nun walked in, carrying two plates full of chocolate muffins. She placed them on the half-broken table next to a picture of Dante’s Inferno. Two burning candles lighted the small table, and their wax dripped on the table, covering the blood that was already spattered on.
“Is that all?” she asked them.
The blond one looked at her from the corner of his eyes before he returned his attention to the mice. His eyes stopped on a girl with long blond hair and dark blue eyes that was standing in the shadows with a doll in her hands.
The dark-haired one and he looked at each other, a smirk placed on their lips. The blond one tightened his grip on the knife so hard that few drops of blood fell on the floor filled with rat’s poop.
They’ve found the one who was worthy of their game.
Now the game could start.