10/1/2043
Finzo wandered the halls, before passing a red, slightly broken door, that lead to the killer's room.
Slash.
The echo of a stroke, a blade clashing skin and metal pierced the maroon wood.
There, he stopped, confused, at what such a sound could be.
Curious, he opens the door.
As the door begins the open, the slit of light, from the hallway, growing larger, Wing panics, slipping the blade back into their arm and covering up the marks they made.
"Hello?" They called out.
"I heard a noise." Finzo explained, still confused.
"Nothing of your concern, I think you'll find. " Wing tried to hurry the conversation to it's end.
Finzo was looking Wing up and down.
He was about to speak, but what he noticed stopped him, before his mouth could even open.
Wing's sleeve wasn't quite down fully, revealing semi-patched-up wounds and one new one.
Suddenly he understood and left, hastely, apologising as they did.
Feeling their arm, a tear fell down their cheek landing softly on the cotten of their dress-like blazer.
They had since lost the reasoning for actions.
They no longer felt the pain; not really anyways.
What they referred to as pain, was more of a trick of their mind, a ghost pain, their body would still flinch at the expectation of agony, their brain would even create its own faded version, to replace what wasn't there.
It's almost like Wing missed the torment, like it gave them reason, to keep going, but it didn't, they didn't want the pain anymore but still, they felt compelled to continue, to inflict it.
Maybe one day they'll stop, maybe one day they'll set their knives down.
Maybe they will, but that day is not today.
YOU ARE READING
Diverging paths
ActionTwo children born of similar intelligence and equal sexuality. One is hated, the other adored, yet both meet a sorrowful end only to find one another in a time after death. Connected at first by the need for revenge but brought closer through a conn...
