The Darker Side of the Soul

Prologue

Amanda Bradly was an ordinary woman. Mostly insignificant. She lived in a modest home that didn't stand out from the many other cookie cutter homes in her neighborhood. She was married of course, but marriage meant nothing to her but a slip of paper saying that she made the meals and cleaned the house and that her bank account was joint with another insignificant significant other. She was no more than a speck on this large earth. Her life meant nothing. Counted for nothing. And she would be like a candle when death finally came for her; winked out with the slightest whisper and unnoticed among the millions of other candles, some of which were much brighter than others. Sure, some would mourn her, like her neighbors who enjoyed her pies and free gossip or her co-workers who fed on her lunches in the office refrigerator without her notice. Perhaps even her husband would miss her warming his bed and meals. But all of that would pass and time would move on and poor Mrs. Bradly would be forgotten like the thousand others that will never be remembered.

I believe Ordinaries deserve more than that. I give them a chance to be remembered in a way that would fade much slower. I consider it my job and civic duty to put the Ordinaries out of their misery. Drag them screaming and kicking to a better ending. A memorable one. Sure, the job was dirty and risky, but what's life without a little risk?

Murdering Mrs. Bradly would be a fun endeavor. And even if the media hype and charity projects set up in her name fail or fade out, she will always be in memory. My memory.  That is more eternal than any Ordinary could ever comprehend. Unlike most, I remember, cherish, and love each individual that I give an ending to. Pardon me, a glorified ending to.

Some of the Guardians disagree with my methods, but I find my line of work quite beautiful in a way. I take pride in every death, every tragedy I create. I consider myself a poet of sorts, an artist, if you will. I paint the planet a beautiful shade of crimson red, a red purer than that of the most elegant of roses. Death is the one thing that can bring people together and rip them apart quicker than anything this God forsaken earth has seen. Death inspires people to change things, start charities and peace marches, and it also inspires violence and the insatiable desire to invoke justice by blood shed. 

In the case of Mrs. Bradly, I have a special plan for her. One that will leave the neighbors accusing one another and the detectives scratching their over worked heads. Just the thought of it brings me toe-curling glee. I have been planning her death for a long time now, longer than most. I've planted little seeds that grew the elements of her murder before her mother was even born. It has been my little side project since the holocaust.  

Who am I, might you ask? I am the being the angles  both despise yet answer to.  Demons crawl on their bellies begging for my help and cower under my stare. I am every serial killer, murderer, terrorist, disease, and plague. I am the thing that taints every soul, willing them to do my bidding. I am in every living creature. I am the weight that tips the scales of good and evil. I am the dark side of the soul. And I am in you right now. 

Every angry outbreak, every jealous rage, every act of destruction, violence, and vengeance, is me. Free will? What a pathetic joke. You are under my control. You are mine. And I will love you more than any mother could, satisfy your carnal needs more than any lover could, and you will always come crawling back to me, because ultimately, you love me too.