Story [KIND OF SHORT] random (super) short story dump!

[juniii.exe]

[one.]​

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Her long, black hair hung over her face, covering her pale face. She looked up at me, her eyes in view. They were a terrifying, nearly bone-chilling shade of white. I froze in place, like a deer in headlights. My breathing suddenly stopped. We stood in place for a while, until she started slowly tip-toeing towards me. Her hair dragged behind her, as her pace suddenly picked up. What was she doing? What was going to happen to me? I didn’t know, and I was scared to find out. I rushingly made my way to the door, but it was shut. I hurriedly tried to throw the door open, but it was locked. Locked? Oh no. I couldn’t get out. I was trapped. I slammed my fists into the door.
“Help!” I screamed, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I kept hitting the door over and over again, in hopes that someone would come and get me. There was no hope. I felt her wrap her bony fingers around my neck, as I suddenly ‘lost consciousness’.
Then, the cameraman shouted “Cut!”

[two.]
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The gentleman stared at me in fear. Why in fear? He doesn’t quite understand, this is for him. It’s what he needs to be set free. Once he’s set free, he will stay pure, forever, ever, and ever. He needs to know this is because I love him. I want him to be pure in every single way. When I told him what I felt, he said he didn’t want this; he had a wife and two kids. He doesn’t need to worry. He’ll be with them soon.
“No! Please! I’m begging you! Don’t do this!” he pleaded. Oh boy, don’t I hate when they say stuff like that. They always say stuff like that. I gritted my teeth in anger.
“I told you, this is for you and you only. If I don’t do this your heart will rot, and you will not be pure anymore,” he seemed still confused, sadly. It didn’t matter anymore. I slowly made my way over to my love. “I’ll miss you, mi amour,” I said, taking a fully-loaded, hand-held gun out of my coat pocket and pointing it right at his heart. Poor thing didn’t know what to do. Tears forming at the corner of my eyes, I pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing right into his heart as he took his final breaths.
I said through strained tears, “I love you,” Watching him bleed out, I saw his life slowly wither away and his eyes finally coming to a close.

[three.]
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The bar was full of people, mainly men, eager to watch the next performance. A tall, very attractive looking, slim, red-headed woman appeared on stage. Her long, black dress draped over her body perfectly, and nicely showcased her curves. Her chestnut-colored eyes slightly watered from the very strong smell of alcohol and cigarettes. The crowd whistled, some even made very perverted comments towards her. She seemed to brush those off; she wasn’t bothered by it, like it has happened many times.
The performer stood in front of a microphone, waiting for the piano player to start his tune. He started, as she took deep breaths, counting to twenty in her head. She sang, her voice as pure as the heavens. Everyone called her an angel sent from above. I knew that this was going to be a target that I’ll immediately regret reaping. Though, my boss said her time is up, and will be sent to hell for the things she has done.

[four.]
[trigger warning for self-harm and insecurity.]
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The teenage brunette stared into her mirror reflection. Her brown eyes seemed dead with no emotion whatsoever. Her breathing started to get heavier. She stood up, trembling. She screamed as loud as she could, covering her ears, bending over. She pulled at her own brown locks until she looked back into her mirror. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. Soon before she knew it, her fingers traced her face. She started scratching.
‘Scratch the imperfections away, scratch the imperfections away, scratch the imperfections away,’ echoed through her head. After a bit she wasn’t tearing up her face. She was tearing up the exposed skin on her body. Everything burned. She felt as if she was melting, even parts of her body she didn’t harm.
She quickly rummaged through her drawers and grabbed a pair of scissors. She went over to a picture collage in her room full of women. Women who looked like they weighed no more than 125 pounds. Women who had blonde hair. Women who had ocean blue eyes. Women who were perfect. -Stab! Stab! Stab!- the scissors tore the paper collage into a million pieces. She screamed as loud as she could. She dropped the scissors. What has she done? Tons more tears came running down her face, the scratches burning. She looked back at her mirror, scanning her skin with her eyes over and over again. What has she done? What have I done?