The Edge

The Bullet

Contentment never lasts—if there was one lesson I'd learned in the last week, it was this.

It had been four days since I'd seen those beasts, seven since I'd fought them. Their bodies had sat in the water four days, their blood almost overtaking any remains of blue that sat in it. The ruby shine sitting in the water had faded with the tint.

A pure, blood-colored one now took over my view. I hated it with every fiber of my being.

All the water could remind of now was of wounds or weary warriors. Cuts and bruises leaking out of the flesh, leaving a scar that could never be left behind or forgotten. Every morning, the scar is there; every night you go to bed, staring at this cut which is only a memory; every moment of the rest of your life is spent with an unforgettable memory, all because of a scar.

That's what the water was. A scar—stagnant, never changing. It would last through centuries, generations long after mine knowing what happened that day.

Last week marked a day that would forever be remembered in my history. It marked something that would long outlast me. The blood in the water would always overcome the water.

And there I was, staring into the blood. It seemed to grow redder every day—I began to think of it as the color of hate. A faint, optimistic side of me said that memory was always worth having. But, after thinking about it more, I remember my life being fine without knowing who He was.

As usual, my thoughts carried me away. Meaningless, monotonous reflections about who I was.

I began thinking of the Day of Blood and recalled the woman. She had been standing at the porch next to me, then . . . vanished? Upon this revelation, I grew somewhat confused. Somehow she'd disappeared, me being too wrapped up in the drama to notice.

Why would she leave though?—that was the question that stuck with me.

This moment, as if my thought was a cue, seemed to trigger a knock. It was a familiar knock, like a metronome. It only took a moment to realize who it could be.

I walked over to open the door, but she opened it before I could arrive. Her face was plain—expressionless, emotionless, but still demanding. It made me almost forget her desperate screams. Almost.

Like before, she barged through my home and went to my porch. Without acknowledging any of her surroundings, she grunted.

It was a grunt of anger, but also of boredom, as if she was done with fulfilling the same task many times. I got a swelling feeling in my chest, my oxygen seeming to slowly be cut off.

Chasing her though, I did the only thing I knew to do: look into the distance.

Never before in my life had depression come so suddenly as it had in this moment. Diving into the ocean, never coming back from the depths became a temptation. Yes, I would be swimming in blood, but it couldn't be worse than a blood bath such as this. My knees went weak, tears coming from my eyes.

Sobbing, I could hear the curses of the woman. It was clear she hated them—but no one could hate them half as much as me. If anyone ever had the rage I possess, they would've dove into the water years before. It would be better to drown in the anger than thrive with it.

On my knees, crying out to a god I wished existed, the horizon only grew dimmer. The sun lowered quicker than usual, darkness overcoming the face of the deep.

Pure hatred raged inside of me, all other thoughts of contentment, peace, and joy dying from my mind. The happy moments of me and my father, the love that we shared, faded.

If one could see my brain, it would be black. Darkness would be clouding it, swirling around and thundering with nothing but hate.

Today, everything would end. It was them or I—my home or theirs.

I stood up, desperately clinging to the railing of my home. The creatures slowly made their way to me, my slits of eyes wanting to damn their souls—if they even had such things.

Heartless would be a better word, I suppose. I could promise you of their heartlessness.

The woman on my right turned to me, giving me a sad look. Confused as I was, she didn't say anything—unhelpful to the scenario. A slight sigh and negative nod of the head gave me suspicions. What she did next though, I never could have guessed.

Her eyes met with mine, and she whispered in the faintest voice I've ever heard, "They said I had to do this."

The gun in her hand raised up to point at me. I was too heavily in a state of shock to realize what was happening, and she pulled the trigger.