A book of starters

Violets - Part 1

A/N: Would write more, is too tired.
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It comes to me in splinters, razor sharp prickles and short stabbing wounds of a fallen world of which I had never knowingly seen shattering before my very eyes. As if a veil had been removed, and now I were as a child lost in a store but without a family to which I could be returned to.

A seemingly blinding light expanded to every corner of my vision, filling my mind with ominous foreshadowing of danger and despair - the two irrefutable forces of nature of which the chaotic life I had lead had played it's melody so harmoniously with.

And in a second that chaotic world of which I stood in the centre of vanished revealing a lone child, surrounded by a field of red suffering that ate away at their very soul till their ghostly like figure melted and along with it took the small piece of kindness of which I had safely locked away in a locket long ago to a place I knew I would never again see. Then as the waves of black churned, crashing ever so violently against the weak walls which held empathy and envy, the whole structures shifting complexity broke away into a flourish of shards like roses before me, and once against I stood on the precipice between life and death for only a short moment before the darkness reached its numb hands towards me and called for its partner to once again play charades to the sweet tune of bitter heartbreak. I unwillingly, filled with a resounding hatred and pain, accept the calling, and once again the familiar sense of falling into an inescapable abyss ate at my conscious in this bleak place until it were no more.

I awoke, as always, with a start. Rubbing my eyes violently in a fretfully useless attempt to combat the stinging warmth of tears that had begun to trickle down my face, mingled with the scent of sweat and fear. My long black hair clinging to my very being, almost becoming like a second skin as I grabbed my water and hastily drank from the cool glass.

In the darkness the familiar object slips from my grasp, a sharp almost paining noise as it falls apart on the cold floor. As I move, the rickety bed squirms and hisses in protest, as I reach for any sort of light.

Eventually I produce a small, stone like object from inside the decaying drawers beside me and crack it in halves, the room beginning to glow with a purple shimmer. I clean up quickly, hiding the shards and disposing of whatever needs to be disposed of. And then, as the purple soft embrace of the light fades into the harsh morning sun, I feel a sense of familiarity fade away as I await the coming day.

___

It arrived late noon, an unmarked letter hidden in the cobblestone recesses of the walls blocking out all life from the hallowed mansion in the deep dank forest.

Rather traditional, I thought, peeling open the wax sealed letter from its small prison. The writing is crushingly clear, as if written with a smug, cruel impression; knowing the letters spell an unstoppable death of some feat by my own hands or otherwise.

A cold wind passes through the empty, soulless sky, chilling me to the bone. I silently stalk my way back over to the bittersweet refuge of the mansion in order to prepare myself for another minor hurdle to cross.

Many plain clothes, neatly folded by a bored child of whom i shared name and face with, awaited for their chance to share a role in my facade. I picked any, and grabbed one of various school type bags, reading the letters instructions one more time, as a frosty icicle of reluctance passed through my veins, chilling then, but too soon faded and gone. Distant; as if it had never appeared. 

I felt my iris burn as I stepped out of the rusty gates, taking a path I knew almost too well. There is a burning fire of malice as I smile absent mindedly in what to anyone else would be perceive as naive wonder, but to those who were not blinded by the veil of the worlds cruel natures, it was a message of all degrees, about who I was and what lies within my perturbed mind.

*

As I reached the desired location, a small apartment complex that looked far too glamorous to house anyone unimportant within it, I felt the pressing urge sustained within the cold metallic blade in my pocket of which I had earlier slipped without taking notice of it myself. I walk a little faster, urged on by a sense of undeniable bloodlust.

I make my way to the door, ready to play the same act as always. The person who answers is rather young, new, almost oblivious to the world he seemed to have stumbled upon. Almost hesitant as I recite his orders number back to him and await the confirmation that indeed this was my 'client', and that it was indeed my target standing before me.

I enter the quite bright apartment, and take lead of the boys hesitance, guiding him to the nearest peace of comfortable furniture. A wicked cold smile passes over my face as he settles, nerves ticking like a beating heart within him. His small tremors entertaining. He doesn't notice as I entrance him, the cruel mischief in my actions.

___

Even the cruellest people look peaceful as they sleep - and as I sit, almost cold on the end of the newly laundered now messy bed, sweaty and numb from my mistakes, I almost feel hesitant - pitiful of the creature before me. It is only brief though, as all resistance my bones could conjure up to the familiarity of murder is relinquished as the blade settles nicely into his bare chest.

It is quick then, the slit throats and additional wounds for measure. And then I am set to work, much alike a maid, though any master I would have to answer to I have just spilt onto the pristine white sheets of the bed. I sigh irritably as I work; grabbing bin bags and looking around for any washing.

Sometimes I would leave the body, but today would be taken as a definitive murder; no suicide or motive for death: not that the public would know anyways. I have to remind myself as I look over it's bloody corpse that it had done much worse things and was not human. That there was justification behind my own bloodlust - feeling hollow inside knowing any justification is ultimately useless.

Then it is done, and the moon is high in the sky. My prey fit like an assortment of Tetris blocks in my bag, a ghost of another killing following me as I make my way out and into the forbidden cavernous forests, to dispose of any misdeeds at my own fortress of solitude.

The moon is high in the sky as I scale the walls, able yet unwilling to use the gates. I prefer the rough rocks and the sharp pain as I hurl myself over; a small reminder that I am alive in this slow and unmoving world. It is almost as if time is at a standstill in this plain, hidden pocket of time. My stomach growls like a beast, reminding me that though the world stands still my body progresses onwards. I slink back inside,  and prepare for another evening of silent tyranny, before repeating the endless dance of time again tomorrow, another victim, another justification.