❝Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn into poetry. All the blood was never once beautiful, it was just red.❞
A story of a half breed, half human half demon, that walked the earth hated. She learned of selfishness and blood lust far soo...
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I have been watching him my entire life. I hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees. His words so contrived, I hate how the towns people gather outside. They hang on with every breath, clinging to every word. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing for his timely demise. How every step he takes causes a gasp of air into his dying lungs. How the sweat clings to his temple as he rasps out his self proclaimed prophecy. How he is a hero to all, how he should be a god in their eyes.
With every step I can hear how heavy he is. His hair stringy, either from the oil or from his own hair falling out. His eye sockets sunken in and filled with delusions. His cheeks hallowed as he stumbled around. He was a frail man, so arrogant to how idiotic his selfish desires were. He spoke of how he was powerful, killing monsters of the night. His Katana slicing down mindlessly in the night, he could barely even hold the damned thing. His hands calloused and scars littering his pale skin. Even with no windows, only bars to look out of, I knew him better than he knew himself. He woke up early, people gathered outside by dawn, he stumbled around his room before walking out. People cheered, the cheering was so loud they didn't hear the screams I unleashed for so many years. Or maybe they didn't want to hear me, to lost in the same delusion as he was.
After he spoke whatever stupid story he had for that morning people would slowly leave. Then he would walk down to where I am. "Demon" he chanted, as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. That if I was this demon he so needed then what he had done would be okay.
"Demon. Demon. Demon. Demon.."
It's all I heard for years. Even as the rags barely covered my body anymore. Then one day I was allowed out. I couldn't tell at this point if I hated him anymore. I used to loath him for all he was. Even step, every word, the fact he even took up an inch of air around me. I wanted his death painful, even if it meant I died unknown down here, his dying rasp being the last thing I hear. The stupid cellar, made of stones I clawed at till my fingers bleed. It smelled like mold and rot, it was a smell I became numb to after the first week. Only a bucket and a blanket was down there. The 'blanket' was more of a potato sack than anything.
As I was pushed up the stairs I couldn't understand who I was anymore. A demon, a human, did it matter anyways? I was surely going to be killed. But why keep me for so long if I was only going to be killed now? As I looked out, the sun blinding for a moment, I saw it. The people, the looks of awe and fear painted the faces of hundreds. For a moment I wished to be him, that the people would see me as the poet and not the muse.
"Look! This is what I have told you about for years! A demon!"
Gasps rung out, mothers covering their children's eyes as fathers looked ready to kill. My eyes only looked them over, how could they see me as bad? I did not hurt them, I don't even understand what this man is speaking of. Even with years of listening it was still confusing. His stories were missing parts, not making sense, too little detail or too much. Both done to make his story believable but I knew better.
