Short Stories and Poems

All their fault...

"It's all my fault. It's all my fault."

I chant these four little words

Over
And over
And over

Rocking

Back
And forth
Back
And forth

Bloodied hands griping, tugging, at my tangled hair

Wide eyes starring straight ahead into nothingness

Blank
Expressionless
Empty
Dead

Just like the lifeless corpse that sits before me

Nothing but a husk of cold, grey flesh and broken bone

I feel a warm hand grip my shoulder, the heat melting through the icy chill that encapsulates me

His breath is as soft as silk against my cheek, as he calmly whispers into my ear

"Soon they will come to fear you and bow before your power. Relish in it."

The coldness subsides, my rocking and chanting ceasing

Silence
Calm
Acceptance
Peace

He was right

I am an angel of death, collector of souls, reaper to the damned

They should cower before me, not the other way around

He deserved to die, just like the countless people I have killed before him and all those to follow

A maddened grin spreads across my scarlet speckled cheeks

I look back at the man behind me, his pitch black eyes meeting mine; strikingly demonic in contrast to his otherwise angelic form

A grin of his own mirrors the one that continues to grow on my own face

"It's all their fault," I whisper

My new mantra

And it echos

Over
And over
And over

In my head