While digging in the backyard of my old orphanage, I discovered an almost rotten chest and I found a pile of old photographs of my friends—all of them have the same marks on their foreheads.
But that didn't surprise me. All of us had curious little signs on our foreheads, almost the shape of commas. No, what did make my blood run cold was the blood-stained pocket knives each of us held in our hands. Delilah, Malcolm, Avery, Natasha, Beatrice, Atharv and me—all seven of us, tiny five-year-olds sitting on our knees in a neat straight line, smiling at the camera like it was the most normal thing in the world.
All of us, except Sarah.
What does this mean? Was this a cult of some sort? No sooner had I started worrying myself further with thoughts that I saw black, murky smoke emerge from the chest. It started spinning around me, first in slow circles, gaining momentum later.
I knew you'd come, dear.
What was that voice?! Where did it come from? Why didn't Sarah weild a knife? I turned around quickly, my heart leaping to my throat, but found nothing.
Don't you know? This was always your calling.
The voice whispered again. Was it the...smoke talking? It felt like I was falling. I probably was falling. I couldn't tell anymore.
"Sarah, why don't you come along with us at all? Don't you see how much fun it is?"
"I do not like watching people cry."
"They are not people! They are targets! The Supreme taught us that. And the Supreme's command shall always be fulifilled."
Why were there tears in my eyes? I didn't want this.
"Get out of my head!" I screamed.
You were always my favorite, love. You know who wasn't?
I could feel my mind betray my body as I dropped to my knees and shut my eyes.
Sarah.
My eyes went flying open.
"The Supreme's command shall be fulfilled."
