So a monster I will be

|P| A Promise

 "But she was wrong about hell.
You don't have to wait until
you are dead to get there."

― Susan Beth Pfeffer

"You know, this is pretty much your fault" he said, leaning down on his knees, staining his jeans on a pool of blood.

He grabbed the cold metal connected to my neck and pulled hard, making my body snap forward. It should have hurt, I should have screamed for the new wounds adding mercilessly and for the more red escaping like a river from the broken dam, but now? Now I was numb, now my bones were just cold.

Now I had lost too much blood and my heart was aching too much to feel anything else.

I didn't feel his horrible breath of death on my face, I didn't feel the skin breaking under the hard cold metal and the hot dense liquid marking again the little pieces of shirt I still had. I didn't feel the wound under my stomach open more with the harsh movement, dripping blood on the ground, or the hurt on my arms for being on that position for so long.

I didn't look at him. I didn't look at his cold dark red eyes. The eyes of a monster.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me broken, of seeing the devastation he knew he had caused, of what he had taken away.

But maybe I was just a coward, and looking out my window I could believe this was a nightmare, and like me the moon that was slowly disappearing behind the clouds, hiding, I could also shield the gaze away from the massacre.

And I lied.

I lied again and again.

This isn't true. This is a nightmare. I will wake up. I had whispered but now chanter chanted because my voice was gone like everything and maybe if I said thousand times, million times, maybe they would be real.

Maybe if I begged enough, if I prayed that this was a dream, that I would wake up to the scent of pancakes, then the bodies on the ground weren't my family, and maybe I would wake up and start my day, like I always did.

"Oh dear, don't cry" he said, passing a cold as ice finger on my cheek, turning my head away from the moon and into his wild eyes once again "Can't you see how beautiful it is?" he asked, getting up and gesturing wildly with his arms the macabre spectacle. A wild laugh crept out from his perfect mouth as he turned happily on himself, filling up with his wild frame the space as more tears streamed down my face.

He took a few steps back, looking around my unrecognizable room in sick pleasure, and inhaled with his nose tasting the fear, the pain, the sorrow he had caused and smiled again at me, indicating with his finger the figures lying immobile at his feet.

But I wouldn't look.

If I looked, then everything was real and this was not a nightmare.

If I looked then I would see their cold void eyes staring at nothing, accusing of what I had done, for the rules I had broken.

If I looked, I would see their beautiful face frozen forever in pain, never changing, never again moving.

I couldn't look.

"Look at them" said the woman from the shadows, and I ignored her, because what more had I to lose? What could she take more than she already had?