Devil

Preface

I prepare for war.

I walk through the crowded high school’s halls, people separate from their conversations and look up to stare at me like I’m some freak. They might be right.

I’m calm. I know what’s coming and I know no one can stop me, including myself.

I walk into the full English classroom, they all look up from their desks and an expression of utter disgust is spread across their faces. The teacher looks at me from her desk in the front of the room, “Can I help you?”

And I kill them.

Every single last one of them.

Some of them beg for their life.

I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything.

I’m doing them a favor; I’m helping to take them away from the shit and piss and the vomit that run in the streets. I’m helping to take them somewhere clean and kind.

And there’s something about all that blood.

I drown in it.

Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits, and once a month in ceremonies they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free. There’s something smart about that, very smart. I like that.

They all think I’m crazy.

I think they’re all naïve.