My Face And The Fire

Endless Revolution

The world was dark, but I could not bring myself to sleep. The smoke of my cigarette wrote words in my head and drew pictures in my lungs. Each breath crackled and sparked, and I felt the burns deep in my stomach.

My task was over. It had been over for a very, very long time. I couldn't keep running. The end would be soon.

The screams of my victim still lived inside of me like pathogens. And his wife may have been the one framed, but she screamed with just as much agony.

I flicked open my lighter. The flame was bright, and hopeful, as if it was unaware that I could extinguish it at any moment.

Who was I kidding? Flames didn't have feelings.

That flame was the most alive thing in the room. It smoldered on and on, as my two hearts began to slow. I had seen what fire could do. It ate away at peace, it melted skin like ice, it welded life to death. I had it in my hands. That was all it took to bring my end early.

My life wasn't much more than a dateless orbit. A merry-go-round which spun my senses beyond recognition. But my time wasn't over yet. There would be tomorrow, and the day after, and all the days beyond that. One day, the story would end, and our time would be up. It wasn't long until that time came. The final case was in progress, and I would never have to think again.

I often have to remind myself that it wasn't my fault. I still remember the texture of the journalist's skin in his last moments. The sound of his last breaths. My knife through tendons, his throat ripped to shreds. I still felt stained by his blood. It would never wash off, even if not visible to my eyes. It was not my fault. It was my purpose, which me and my 'family' idolized like a religion. It had to happen, or else I would have no reason to exist, and I would be simply replaced.

Sometimes our creator showed us those who had been replaced. Body after limb after bone, our former existences were always right there to remind us of why we were here. I could not forget it.

I could not leave yet. The cycle of my endless revolution was not over.