Crimson

The walls were painted with crimson blood, his favorite color. The blood slowly dripped from the ceiling, as if raining down from the heavens. The police only found a wooden bat at the crime scene, with no prints. He was sorry, yes, but he couldn't stop himself. 

He was a criminal, yet he didn't feel bad. It wasn't that bad. He had thought as he walked away, sierins in the distance behind him. 

His name given to him was the "Crimson Killer". They had gotten at least half his name right. His name was Crimson.

Recently, the gang related crimes had gone down, and Crimson, the leader of a small gang, consisting of only seven people, not including himself, saw a chance. Crimson and the Rainbow Gang, could rise up and finally, they just might succeed their goal. 

A recent horror tale about the woods came up, a man who killed children in the woods. The story had soon spread like wildfire, and soon overshadowed The Rainbow Gang's killings. 

Ever since then, Crimson made it his personal goal: kill that wooduim beast. 

Crimson walks home now. A successful kill behind him. A smile on his face. He had to go home so he didn't miss dinner. He would hate to miss dinner with the family.