Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-31283382-20161126153105

As both of my previous stories got deleted, I decided to post this one here, so the good people of Creepypasta might spot the mistakes I didn't. I would like to apologise for any grammar mistake in advance as English is not my first language. But on to the pasta:

The Unforgiven

As Alex walked home from yet another tiersome day at the college, she couldn't help but to feel cheerful; after all, she and her boyfriend planned a fun evening. She was just about to unlock the front entrance to her building, when a gloved hand appeared from the darkness and slapped the keys away. In an instant, all the cheer she felt was replaced by grim as cold as the night around her, when the tall figure dressed in black, face hidden by a large hat, and draped in tattered black cloak stepped out of the shadows. She was unable to scream, or make any sound at all. So she ran. Just like she always did. But this time it was to be different; this time, she would not run away from her problem. This time, the problem would catch up. She ran into the side alley, hoping to lose her pursuier. She ran past the garbage bins and a stray cat sitting on top of one, tearing a sack to shreds in search for leftovers, not even noticing the girl. As the shadowed figure slid into the alley, the cat stopped and faced the figure, completely frozen. The figure paid no heed to cat and continued to silently stride to its victim. As the figure passed, the cat dashed away, filled with the same nameless fear as the girl. But the cat had nothing to worry about. Alex stopped, strugling for breath. She could hear nothing aside from her ragged breath and violent heartbeat. She thought she was safe. Foolish girl. The gloved hands emerged from the shadows like black hounds, and grabbed her. She tried to scream, but one of the hands covered her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the figure raise its right hand to its invisible face. When it pulled its hand away, the glove was left hanging from between its briliant white teeth, and the fist with gnawed nails emerged. The hand tore away at her uniform, removing her skirt, stroking, caressing and groping every inch of her body. Her muffled cries for help grew slightly louder, but not enough for anyone to hear them. The figure pushed her away. She colided with the wall and fell to the ground, dazed from the impact. Through mist, she could see the figure kneeling beside her, brandishing a dual edged dagger. The figure grabed her long brown hair, and violently cut it as short as possible. The pain cleared her mind, and now she could see the  lower half of the figure's face, the smile that was the mix of sadistic pleasure and pure hatered. The figure took a glove it dropped and forced it into her mouth. It then placed the dagger at her chest and carved. The scream that left Alex's sealed mouth was the one of pure pain. The dagger continued, slowly, taking its time. If she wasn't blinded by tears and terror, she would see long, almost caligraphic crimson lines that now covered her chest, belly, thighs and face. The figure's expression now changed; it seamed more furious and angry, and its jaw twiched. The figure roughly turned Alex on her stomach and continued its macabre work on her backs. Alex could no longer think. The entire world faded away and the only things left were the black of the night and the scarlet of blood, the coldness of blade and the burning of wounds. The figure now started to scream in raging hatred. It lifted the dagger high in the air and plunged it down, straight in the middle of Alex's back, through her spine. In an instant, the pain went away, and Alex felt the comforting numbness before she lost  consciousness. The figure removed the glove from Alex's mouth and elegantly slid it on its hand, before standing up to observe its work; most of the girl's half-naked body was covered in long, shallow cuts that would scar and hurt her for the rest of her life. Her hair was cut unevenly, and her scalp was carved so large patches of hair wouldn't grow back. She would live, but she would be grossly disfigured, and the wound on her spine would ensure that she would never walk again. The figure turned around and strided away, after giving a loud whistle to ensure someone would find the girl. As it silently walked through the shadows that almost seemed to be part of it, it searched its pockets for the keys that it picked of the ground after slapping them away from Alex. The figure smiled; the girl's boyfriend, that jerk Dave, will most certainly be visited tonight. Oh, the torture and pain that that bastard will endure before he is left in the same state as his precious Alex. Alex, who will now be forced to live for the rest of her life with the ghostly visage in the place of her once beautiful face. But she had it coming. She had it coming from the moment she malignantly rejected me.  