Spawn of Satan

Copyright © 2014

As I sat, tragically lost in my own world of thought, contemplating the things I've done in the past. I recall the pain of my past life. The sorrow, the misery, and the physical pain of the past.

I always loved the small ,vivid ,bright glow of my deep, dark past. I would never let the world know what I hold inside of my own filled mind. I continuously contemplate as I smile, remembering.

I then recall the very vivid memory of the very time that helped shape the person I became. The memory that help my deep dark past become deep and dark.

It was as if I held in my hands, a box that concealed my past. I was extremely tempted to open the wooden box. When the temptation became too strong, I slid my finger across the small latch. I then gently opened it, revealing my past.

*** four years ago***

I stood at the end of an alleyway, like a shadow lurking around, awaiting the fait of my victim. My heart pounded violently against my chest. I could hear the violent pounds in my ear.

I felt the nervous, excitement sensation construct itself inside my stomach. As I saw the small, dark figure entering the alleyway, I crept to the corner. I stood trying to slow my breath.

I slid my palm across the metal blade of the sharp weapon, I held in my coat pocket. I let the mystifying smirk cover my face as I creep past the right side of my victim. "Hello?" The small figure questioned.

"I came as I was told, where is the money?" She asked once more. I stood behind the very girl who made me a victim, she was the one who caused my depression and now she is the victim.

I gripped the plastic handle of the object I contained. I slowly grabbed it, as it screeched, sliding against the metal container. My victim turned towards me. Her face was filled with fear, I smiled.

As I slid the blade of my knife through her chest I felt power. I felt as if I was indestructible as I took away the thing every person valued most, life. She screamed, holding her hands on the wound.

She fell backwards, trying to get to the nearest corner. She yelled for help, but none could hear her plea. I still held the very smirk, my breath was heavy, and the excitement exploded inside me.

**Present**

That was the first of many victims, after that I continuously killed since I was condemned to hell anyway. My father would always say I was a spawn of satan, after my first victim I started to be proud of my title.

I killed so many I've lost count, but I know each scream was different. One scream I will never forget is the scream of my father. His very scream was the only that put a brutal ringing in my ears.

Don't get me wrong, I've never felt guilt for the death of my father, nor for any other victim. I only felt power and excitement.

I've never been caught even though i've killed a countless number of people. The only thing about killing people is their screams creep into your dreams like my knife creeps into the heart.

I guess it's only fair.