Blood

She was cornered, she was outnumbered with no way to flee. The group of ruthless killers slowly advanced towards her, psychotic grins dancing in their faces. She was the one who had ruined them and now she would pay. Yet oddly, she wasn’t scared or looking for a way out, she almost looked happy.

What’s a couple hundred against one?  It certainly is unfavorable to her, but challenges like these are hard to come by. 

Every move she made was precise, every slash was dangerous, and she was enjoying every moment of it. Blood erupted from multiple wounds on her victim’s body, drenching the assassin named after it. She smiled a contagious smile as her victim dropped to the ground, slowly dying from the blood loss.

When she left, the streets were painted red; just how she liked it.

Love?

Love is blind, love is merely a madness…

They were in love. So very much, or at least that’s what she believed. Before he turned cold.

Drip… drip… drip. His lifeless body was the only thing that could satisfy her madness.

Love is blind. Love is merely a madness..

The Puppet Master

“He was a puppet master, a psychopath. I should know, he’s the one who made me what I am today. He took everything and everyone from me, even my innocence, he made my life a living hell, so I sent him there.” She laughed, a blood-curdling, bone-chilling laugh. “And the worst part is, I didn’t feel anything when I killed him; his blood painted my hands, my clothes and I was happy. I didn’t feel anything then, but later I was terrified; I was terrified because I had turned into something I utterly despised. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had turned into something so vile, so terrible that it was slowly eating me from the inside until I couldn’t bear it. The puppet master pulled one last string before he left this world forever. He turned me into him.

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There was a story involved with this, one of emotional horror more than physical ones, one of a young naive girl broken down, and one of her rising defiantly from the ashes and exacting her revenge. But this one small paragraph feels much better than the story I might never write.

Cruel and Evil

A little girl watches from behind the curtains as a Pied Piper named Death plays a tune. A silent tune immune to children. The little girl watches as the brand of an inverted torch pulls everyone towards the couple that possess it. Blood is everywhere, their screams echo throughout. No one remembers afterwards, except the girl. She cries alone that night because her parents are no longer there to comfort her.

The girl has grown now. She understands Death’s melody but isn’t affected by it. She was innocent before, too pure. She is corrupt now, too evil.

She sleeps without Death having to sing his lullaby. Sometimes, she looks at people around her, wondering who will make the fatal strike.

Her time comes and she is unprepared. Unprepared for death but prepared for a battle. The God in question would have chuckled at her defiance, but sadly he isn’t around anymore.

She is disappointed. Not because of the lack of the fatal blow but because of how ridiculously easy it is to turn the tables around.

It feels like she is having a constant battle with Death’s remaining puppets. It is not even worthy of calling a battle, but she does anyways. A girl can hope, right?

The world is imperfect without Death, as it could give rise to people like her. However, she can’t deny that she and Death are not that different.

Cruel and Evil indeed.