I stare down at what was left of the bodies of the six men I have just killed. I cannot help but wonder, do I love killing? Do I love to slaughter people? Do I?
What I do know is, I certainly do not love the way my body works so effortlessly as a weapon.
I know my body has the knowledge of where to strike for maximum impact, where to slash, where to rip, how to stalk… I’m undeniably brilliant at it.
The continuous battle with my body, my mind and my spirit...Nothing makes sense anymore, nothing.
It’s a battle already lost, I let it win.
My mind tells me it was all because of this war, a war that a privileged greedy bastard that we all must call our king started. He doesn’t believe he was ruling enough people, didn’t think he had enough land, nor enough wives or children.
The greedy hands doesn’t know anything other than more, more, more.
No matter how much I want to blame greedy hands for making me become who I’ve become, I know deep down inside that it was just a matter of time before this would’ve happened.
The feeling of the need to slaughter...the need to kill was always there. I just didn’t know it till I tasted the metallic crimson liquid that runs through one's body, till I felt that red velvet substance against my skin. How great it felt to rip a body apart, how it felt to have my preys’ sticky blood covering my hands.
I’ve embraced this side of me more and more every day, I was always going to be this, always.
The person I thought I was, the person my village thought I was, the person my own mother pretended me to be is gone. That boy is gone because I’m too weak to fight this hunger.
Not by his own hands.
Staring at his leather journal that held his confessions of his unsatisfying hunger and rage. He wondered if his mother would even be notified that he wouldn’t be returning home if he had chosen to end his life tonight.
What came so easy to him before he didn’t have the guts to go through with it for himself.
He looked up from his journal startled, his eyes met the psychotic dark brown eyes that belonged to the king, greedy hands.
The king snatched his journal and threw it deep into the woods “pointless actions”
the boy’s green eyes darted to the woods where his journal found its peace, he felt this overpowering need to slaughter greedy hands. He could feel his own bones start to crack and break before his body relaxed itself.
He still thought maybe all those lives he took would be forgiven if he ended the owner of those greedy hands, the king’s life.
That will never be the case…he wouldn’t ever commit that murder, it in it’s own was a death sentence to not only himself but whom ever else was caught up in the crossfire.
He wasn’t stupid.
“You shall listen to me when I am speaking” greedy hands the king roared as he made his young soldier stand up. He forcefully dragged him to the direction of his massive tent.
“Do you understand?” greedy hands pushed him to the ground of his tent. “Do I make myself clear?!” A kick to his back followed.
“Yes your majesty” he didn’t want to disobey this greedy king’s orders.
"Why so frightened my dear?" Crouching down greedy hands tried to cup the side of the boy's face, but the boy moved away from the touch as one single tear rolled down his extremely dirty cheek.
He wasn’t scared, he felt pain but that too was numb. All he felt was the burning hot tears rolling down from all this
rage that was boiling inside him.
"You're so pretty that I mistaken you as a lady when I first laid my eyes on you." The pedophile of a king spoke as his greedy fingers tips danced against his skin.
The boy just bit back what he was going to say, he was clearly not a woman.
The sound of weak dead trees creaking, twigs snapping, owls hooting, horses foot steps filled the young boy's ears as he slowly came out of unconsciousness.
Panic set in.
Everything went black.
Was he dead?
Are you enjoying my ongoing story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, raineeWrite a Review