RE:WRITE

3.0 Zero_Chapter 3: Campfire Stories

I still felt unpleasant because of what happened in the morning.

The death and gore, the little girl caught in despair, the bandit who obviously had his reasons for his actions and the fact that I had killed so many people.

Oddly enough, it wasn't the fact that I had killed them that disturbed me.

It was the fact that it had been so easy that really made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to see blood and flesh splattering everywhere, but my solution to that problem was even more disconcerting. I just erased them like I erased the wild boar's
corpse and they disappeared into oblivion.

Just like that.

I even saved the ability as a favorite called 'Erase' along with a code that allowed me to teleport wherever I wanted to, which worked when I thought of the phrase 'Teleport to' and then the location where I wanted to go.

But I couldn't get the bald bandit out of my head. Although he had reminded me of terrible memories, and what he did to the little girl was unforgivable, a part of me still felt guilty for what his family would go through because of his death.

I'll fulfill my promise to him at least. His family should be innocent, even if he was utterly unforgivable.

Right, he was unforgivable. Under the light of the flickering campfire, I looked at the
little girl sleeping under the blankets I had created and couldn't help but feel sorry for
her.

I knew what her life would be like now. I knew the sadness and the anger. I also knew
that she would 'move on' with her life, but she would never really recover from this.

Life just isn't the same when you see your parents get killed right in front of you.

–

The little boy was so excited that his parents had come to see his play. He didn't have
a big acting role in the play itself, but he was the main script writer and he was proud
of his story and his parents had loved it too.

They were praising him constantly and his father kept ruffling his hair while his mother
held his hand.

They had left the theater and were driving home and had stopped at a traffic light.

His father asked him how he had managed to think up such a great story, and his mother
rebuked him because she knew he was implying that he got it from his side of the family.

After all, his father was an author who came from a family of famous authors and
playwrights.His father wasn't very successful but the boy was only nine so he absolutely
idolized his father and bragged about him to all of his friends.

Of course, he was also proud of his mother – a small time astronomer working in the
town's local observatory. He had won the respect of nearly every kid in his class when
they had visited his mom's workplace at the observatory and gotten to see the stars for
themselves.

But just as his mother was about to tease her husband about how the play was obviously
inspired by their son's love for astronomy, everyone froze.

A young man wearing a black hood stood outside his father's window, pointing a gun at
his head.

The boy was confused at first because he couldn't understand how things could change
so suddenly. He looked at the hooded man and although he couldn't see most of his face,
he could see his eyes. Cold, unfeeling. With unmistakable signs of what he would later
recognize as drug addiction.