Tag: death

The Life That Death Forgot

October 9, 2016

She sits, starring at the children playing when death approaches, once again. “Hello.” He says, standing next to her.

“Hello.” She responds, still looking at them. “Please don’t.”

“There is a natural order to these things, as you very well know.”

“Yes, but they’re so happy.” She smiles.

“They all do.” He snaps his finger and an explosion goes off and they enveloped by fire. But it does not touch either of them.

“Their families will cry.”

“They all do.”

“They’ll weep.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Love, my old friend.” She tells him, smiling at him sadly. “And passion. You used to understand those things.”

“Did I?” he says turning to stare into the flames.

“Yes,” I tell him, “You did.”

The Death That Life Forgot

October 8, 2016

“Hello again.”

“Who are you?”

“Who I have always been, old friend.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” I tell her, “You never do.”

She looks at me for a moment, confused, as usual. “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” I almost feel sorry for her, almost. “We have met a thousand times, and a thousand times I have taken what is mine.”

“Which is?”

“You.” I tell her, “Obviously.”

This has always been an exasperating process, every time I come and every time she forgets. It has been this way for millennium, since before the first ancestor of humanity crawled out of the sludge.

“But…” perhaps this time she’ll remember, I think, “I don’t want to go.” And then again, perhaps not.

“But you already have, my friend.” I tell her.

“I have?”

“Yes.” I almost sigh, but refrain. “You have.”

When Life Met Death

October 8, 2016

“Hello?”, she says it like a question. “What are you?”

“I am death”, I tell her. Confused at her ignorance. “And what, might I ask, are you?”

“I am life.”

“Life?” I ask. Still confused, “But I have never heard of you.”

“And I of you.” Her face is also one of confusion, “But that, of course, is impossible.”

“Apparently not.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I have come to take them.” I point at the others, the ones who do not see, who never have. The blind, the ignorant.

“But…why?” she too, is blind. I see that now. She wishes only to see that which is good and fair, but refuses to look at that which is truly ugly, truly dark. In short, at me.

“Because,” I tell her, “They must know.”

She is even more confused now, “Know what?”

“That which you have never truly been able to teach them,” I say, standing straight, “I am here to teach them to live in peace with the dark.”

The Death of Strength – Part Three

August 21, 2016

They brake. They all broke in the end. The breakable one anyway. Not me. I am made of marble. That what she always said. The one I hated, the one who had more faith in me than any of the others, but I wish she hadn’t. Because she was right. In the end I did give into it. I failed myself. I became a killer. I stopped caring about who I killed, and for what reason. I stopped caring who I killed for. I forgot about right and wrong, mostly because the latter is so much easier, so much less painful.

It destroyed me. My strength destroyed me, it hurt in so many ways, so I let it die. Slowly but surely. I let the glee, caused by scarred stares of the other student sink in. I let the proud looks of the teachers cause me smugness. So that every time I was tested, I pushed through, not out of rebellion, but for even more approval.

I feel blood pumping through my veins, the thrill of killing sink in every time I’m about to complete a task. This is what I’ve become. This is who I am now. A killer. And maybe, just maybe; this is who I’ve been all along.

Hidden Guilt

August 7, 2016

AM I CRAZY? NO NOT CRAZY. SOMETHING ELSE…AM I A MONSTER? YES THAT’S IT, I AM A MONSTER, A KILLER…MAYBE I SHOULD LET MYSELF DIE, NO, IT WOULDN’T WORK, IVE TRIED BEFORE, I HEAL TO FAST…WHAT IF I DIDN’T? THEN IT WOULD WORK, BUT WOULD I BE FORGIVEN, I HOPE I WILL BE… BUT WOULD MY BROTHER BE, FOR ASSISTING ME? I HOPE HE WILL BE, PLEASE LET HIM BE.

DEMONDS HAVE CLAWS, THEY DON’T CARE ABOUT KILLING…I MUST BE A DEMOND. ITS FUNNY, I THOUGHT ID FEEL GUILT, BUT I DON’T. IT WAS SO EASY AND SO SIMPLE. HE DIDN’T EVEN FIGHT ME, HE THOUGHT I WAS A CHILD…BUT NOW HE’LL NEVER KNOW WHO I REALLY AM, WHAT I REALLY AM.

SHOUL I FEEL GUILTY. I SOMETIMES FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT FEELING GUILTY. MY BROTHER SAYS I SHOUDLNT, HE SAYS HE DESERVED TO DIE.

BUT DID HE? I GUESS ILL NEVER KNOW NOW, NOBODY WILL, EVER. I AM A MOSTER ARENT I? I THINK I AM BUT MY BROHER SAYS THATA MY OPINION ISNT THE ONE THAT MATTERS. I HOPE HE’S RIGHT. I DON’T WANT TO BE A MONSTER BUT IM CONVINCED I AM. NOBODY CAN ADMIT IM NOT ABNORMAL AND NOBODY CAN CONVINCE ME THAT IM NOT A MONSTER. BECAUSE I AM. I AM A KILLER, I AM A MURDERER. I WISH I COULD FORGET IT ALL, ERASE MY MEMORY, WHY CANT I JUST DIE.

I FEEL CURSED. I HAVE BEEN ABANDONED, HUNTED DOWN AND MY OWN MOTHER TRIED TO KILL ME. BUT WHY? WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED? THERES ONLY ONE PERSON LEFT IN THE WORLD WHO STILL TRULY UNDERSTANDS ME AND ISNT SCARED OF ME; MY BROTHER.

BUT NOT EVEN HE CAN TALK ME OUT OF THE DESIRE TO DIE, TO HURT. THAT IM NOT A MONSTER. BECAUSE I AM. I KNOW I AM.

WHY DID MY DAD HAVE TO DIE? I WISH I HAD DIED INSTEAD.

MY BROTHER ALWAYS GETS ANGRY WHEN I SAY THINGS LIKE THAT, TELLS ME TO BE QUIET. BUT FOR ONCE HE’S WRONG.

HE TELLS ME WE HAVE TO CHANGE OUR NAMES. I HAVE CHOSEN ONE FRON MY FAVORITE BOOK. IT FITS I THINK. SO DOES MY BROTHER. I HOPE HE’S RIGHT. IM VERY PICKY AND IM NOT SURE WEATHER IT’S AS GOOD A FIT AS I THINK.

I PERSONALLY DON’T WANT TO RUN. I WOULD MUCH PREFER TO STAY BEHIND AND GET CAUGHT, BUT MY BROTHER IS PUT OUT ON PROTECTING ME. I WISH HE WOULD LEAVE AND THEN I WOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT PUTTING HIM IN DANGER. ONE LESS BURDEN.

I HOPE THAT IF I DIE HE WONT BLAME HIMSELF. YOU KNOW ITS FUNNY, I JUST STARTED TO REALIZE IT BUT MY BROTHER IS MUCH LIKE AN ANIMAL WITH HIS CLAWS AND TEATH, HIS AMAZING SENCE OF SMELL AND HEARING. MABEY HE’S LIKE ME…

EVEN IF HE IS I DOUGHT HE TRULY UNDERSTANDS THE HORROR I FEEL WHENEVER I REMEMBER IT. IT WAS SO…EVIL. WHAT I DID WAS EVIL. BUT I HAD TO DO IT BECAUSE HE KILLED FATHER. MY FATHER, MY PAPA. HE WAS NOT TRULY FATHER, HE KILLED MY FATHER. I MUST REMEMBER THAT. MY BROTHER ALWAYS DOES ME SAID CURTACY WHEN HE CATCHES ME STARRING, HE KNOWS I THINK TOO MUCH. WHY AM I CURSED? WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE? WHAT HAD I EVER DONE, MORE LIKE? I MISS PAPA, HE ALWAYS LOOKED OUT FOR ME, LOVED ME. HE WOULDN’T HAVE CARED ABOUT MY ABNORMALITY. WHY CANT I DIE? IT’S SO UNFAIR. SO MANY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD DIE EVERY DAY AND I DOUBT ANY OF THEM WANT IT AS MUCH AS I DO NOW. I WONDER SOMETIMES IF I EVER WILL BE ABLE TO DIE AT ALL.

IT’S NOT FAIR IF I CANT. NOT TO ME OR TO ANYONE, EVER. I WONDER WHAT ITS LIKE TO DIE, IF IT’S PAINFULL…OR IF IT’S AS LIBERATING AS I HOPE.

The Necromancer – Part 3

June 4, 2016

The cat laid on the floor or the kitchen, watching the mother cook. The girl had gone somewhere and the cat had discovered, when he tried to follow her, that he could not leave the house, It was as though there where a wall which only applied to him stopping him from leaving. The girl had smirked at him, cruelly before turning away from the house and towards town, her dream-catcher wrapped in cloth.

He looked up, the door leading to the backyard had just opened. She was back. “And where did you go?” the mother asked, looking at her sternly.

“I made a gift for the children at the orphanage, I went to give it to them.” She said looking at her mother glassy eyed and emotionless.

“Present? What kind of present?” she scoffed at her.

“A dream-catcher, it will take their bad dreams away.”

“I highly doubt that, dear.” She said turning back to the simmering pot. “Go to your and wait for me to finish here. Take that filthy cat with you.”

“Yes, mama.” She said, turning to look at the cat. He followed her, reluctantly. Once in the attic she closed the door and walked over to sit on the window sill.

What have you done? The cat though, knowing she would hear him.

“As I was told. As should you.” She said still looking out the window.

But who told you?

“The one who tells everyone. Who whispers sinful deeds in our ears, who feeds off the darkness in our hearts.” She said grinning, maliciously and turned to the cat. “Our hearts, yours and mine, belong to him and always will. He loves us, you see, as he loves all who are loyal to him.” She turned back to the window.

The cat, who had never heard a person speak like this. Starred at the girl, and in an instant he knew, that whoever this person was, he did not ever want to meet him.

The Necromancer – Part 1

May 6, 2016

The little girl stares out of the window at nothing in particular. Today has been a specifically boring day. Nothing new has happened with her siblings and the village boys didn’t even stop by for their daily cookie, as mother calls it. Then something catches her eye. A pair of robins who seem to be bickering in midair a few feet from the old oak tree right outside her window. In the split second she glances at it she notices a pair of large bright amber eyes between the leaves. A cat. This is about to get interesting. The cat leaps at the robins, clearly not having thought through his plan fell through the air onto cold hard floor at least twenty feet beneath him. The girl looks at it unblinking. Then stands up and walks out of the attic and down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Mother asks.

“I saw a cat, I want to see if it’s friendly.”

“Fine” she waves her off. The girl goes out the door and to the back of the house where she finds the corpse of the dead cat and one of the robins. She tilts her head at the sad black cat then sits down and stares at it intensely for at least a minute, then the sad dead bleeding cat began to breath and then sat up. It stared at her curiously, as though it actually understood what had just happened. The cat looked over and started moving towards the dead robin. The girl puts her hand on the cat as though to stop him.

“That birds cost you enough pain already, little cat.” The girl took the robin in her hands and after a few seconds it flitted back to life and flew away. “Your too clever to just leave though, aren’t you.” The cat nodded as though he understood. “Come.” She said standing up and she turned and walked away.

The cat looked back at the two robins who were know sitting side by side on a high up branch staring at the cat and the girl. “Come.” It was the girl she had stopped at the corner. The cat turned and followed her. Thinking to himself that he must be mad.

Target

April 21, 2016

They started the conditioning early. Key worlds that would make me go off at any given moment. Faces of their enemies that would make me go ballistic.  Good people, fair people. Heroes, some would call them. Heroes I’ve been programmed to kill, to rip apart. What do I care who I kill? What’s the difference? It’s still the same, a person is dead and who they are doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.

A death’s a death. A kill’s a kill. It doesn’t matter to me who they are, what they do, what they named their kids.  I don’t ask them anything, I don’t make small talk before killing them. They don’t even know I’m there until they’ve already hit the ground. I’m given a face and an order as to what to do to them and I do it. No questions asked, no name required. I see them, I kill them and that’s that.

It’s funny when I actually do meet people. They act like I’m made of glass. Like I’m this poor, abused little kid. I’m not a kid. I was never allowed to be a kid. And I don’t care. I’m not innocent, not many people my age are anyway, they’re sins are just of a different kind.  I don’t need pity or love. I need a new target, my last ones dead.

The Relationship Between Life and Death

April 20, 2016

The girl and boy stare at each other from opposite sides of the bridge. The rushing water beneath it shook the bridge ever so slightly, it was drizzling, which gave the air a cold fresh scent. The girl waved at him and he waved back, then took a small white rabbit from his inner coat pocket and placed it on the floor. The creature looked up at him and he waved his hands ushering him to go. It turned and hopped over the bridge until he stopped in front of the girl. She picked him up, wrapping the shivering thing in her coat turned and walked away.

For many years the boy brought the girl gifts, which she kept and treasured forever. To this day the girl and boy meat every day and he brings her gifts across the bridge, but never crosses it. Some are as large as whales and others as tiny as insects. But she accepted them and loved them all the same. Not only because he was the one who brought them to her but because she believed everything deserves to be loved.

She fed them and loved them and gave them all homes. They were her responsibility after all, for now and all eternity. Whereas they had only been his for a while. So every morning she would go to the bridge and he would give her another gift, and she loved him for it.