The Wicked Witch in the Forest

II

A thick tree was knocked over and a man laid very still on its bark. Claw marks forged deep into every inch his body, they met bone. Blood was everywhere. It splattered on the trees and spilt onto the bark, seeping into the forest floor- pieces of him littered around the area.

It was beautiful.

Like an artist painting a destructive masterpiece, decorating the forest with such a vibrant color. The strokes of his brush were aggressive and wild. The artist wanted to tell a story, to demonstrate his power and I saw it. I saw him.

There were remnants of a fight, if I could even call it that. The man's blonde hair was fully dyed red, part of his brain hanging out of his cracked skull. There was nothing left of his face to recognize, his attacker made sure of that. I did note that the dead man was toned. Firm biceps and toned thighs told me that he worked out, a lot. He looked strong but strength isn't everything, a lesson he found out the hard way.

As I squatted next to the body, seeing up-close the damage done, a hunger crept up inside me. The dead man's abdomen was teared open and his insides were ripped out.  With his sternum in full view I could see his heart and lungs were missing. But those weren't the only things missing. His liver, kidneys, intestines, even his eyes. This corpse was just an empty cadaver left open to be fed upon by the creatures of the forest. Almost like his attacker flung his organs wildly after digging into him.

I poked and prodded the body, getting a close look at the destruction. This artist was meticulous and precise despite the mess he made. It wasn't torture, but I could feel his anger emanating from the corpse.

This was revenge.

I couldn't help but wonder what the dead guy did to end up like this. I'm sure that even after the light faded from his eyes, his attacker did not stop. Not until he was satisfied- until his beast was satisfied.

I took in a deep breath. Beside the scent of death, there was something else. This corpse wasn't just human. He was a wolf. A dead wolf.

What a shame. What a beautiful shame.

I closed my eyes, relishing in the feel of this moment. Excitement ran through me as I thought about the days were I drained the lives of countless people- his death has me reminiscing on the good ole days. Days when I was an artist too.

My other side got just a taste before I reeled her back in. I was a changed person now and even though it was hard, I was letting that part of me go.

The body was fresh, just a couple hours- not too cold. It plagued my mind who this artist was, who could impress me with such a display. He might still even be in this forest my mind conjured, a twisted smile etching onto my face.

What if he attacked me like this other guy?

I didn't kill as much these days but self- defense was another story. Who would win? Me? Him? Would he mark my body and leave me dead on the forest floor too or would the darkness within me rise up again and claim his beautiful life, showing him how I earned the name 'the wicked witch'.

I, too, abandoned the body, leaving it for the hungry animals to devour. The sun went down, alerting me that it was now evening and time to head back home. I had seen enough for today and was tired from all the exploring.

With a satisfied smirk on my face, a basket full of fruit and a pep in my step, I made it to the forest line of my home.

A smile broke out on my face spotting a trail of blood leading right up to my front porch that told me the artist was inside. And he was injured.

After witnessing such a gory scene in an abandoned forest, every instinct in your body would tell you to run. But not mine. My instincts led me to the danger. We loved to be at the front lines.