My Original Works

Hatred

The fire crackled in the dead of night; the flames rising high to match the intensity of the shimmering moon, challenging it to a battle of the light. The stars that showered the deep indigo of the darkness seemed to merely sit back and watch, providing nothing more than support for it's larger companion. The group of people gathered around the fire seemed to inch closer and closer to the inviting colors, thriving off of the warmth that it provided them. Their weapons were discarded in random locations around them since they found no further use for them at such a time, their armor and other forms of protection lying uselessly beside them. What would come of such a silent night? A night where anything could happen; the moon could dance among the stars in ecstasy while the stars merely watched, the flames could rise higher until they replaced the sun itself, the entire group of people helplessly huddled around the fire could be slaughtered like pigs for nothing more than pure hatred coursing through his veins.

He lie in wait the entirety of the night watching, waiting, but for what? He knew nothing of the aggregation of humans before him. He suspected as much, at least. He knew exactly who they were; the timid yet kind boy that was much more than he appeared, the fiery red-headed female who stopped at nothing to get the things she wanted, even the man who sat silently in front of them, his back to our so-called "hero", his snow-white hair reflecting the bright oranges and yellows from the fire that burned dangerously before him. He knew these people, that much he knew, but he couldn't seem to remember their names.

He would.

He made quick work of the younger two, the girl being brought to her knees in a matter of seconds from the sheer force of the blow he delivered to her skull, the boy going soon after with a perfectly timed blade to the chest. Regardless of whether he pierced the heart beating rapidly in the coward's chest, he knew from the amount of blood spilling from the wound that he would not last much longer. The man behind him was the only one left; all he had to do was turn around and finish him off and he would be rid of them for good, right? He had to keep telling himself that.

"This is going to be over soon," he thought. "They'll be gone for good."

When he turned to face the last remaining member of the team all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of disbelief and anxiety flooding over him, crashing into him and making him yearn for that sweet release of death. He did know these people, he knew them quite well, but it was too late for him to take back his mistakes.

This was his team.

He could only watch as the man from before, the same man who was the only one to accept him for who he was for years on end, looked down at him with no emotion for him. He should be angry, fearful perhaps, maybe even disapproving of the actions he had watched, the events that had unfolded right before his very eyes that he did absolutely nothing to stop.

"How long have you been here, boy?" His voice was unusually low compared to the voice he was used to hearing each and every passing day that he was around. "How long have you been doing this, again and again in your mind, until you convince yourself that there are things that are out of your control? That I've been dead for months now, nearly a year, and you had absolutely nothing to do with it?

"How long are you going to stand there as I repeat this to you, for the umpteenth time, as you drive your bloodied blade into my heart and watch as I crumble to nothing more but a memory before you? How long will it take for you to realize that the past is in the past; that the friends you've killed were a result of the man we followed, that treacherous being that defiled what little sense of humanity you held in your palms, and that you are not at fault for their demise? How long will it take for you to move on, breathe, and accept the hardships you were fated to meet?"

The arm of the younger man moved on its own as if he had rehearsed this scene several times before in his head, plunging the weapon deep into the torso of the man he considered a friend, mentor, ally, or father. He had no control of what he was doing, and he knew it, and all he could do was sob pitifully as the wound began to take its effect. Through his tears, he watched as the blood spilled to the forest floor with the same eagerness that he felt when first meeting the man before him, his eyes gradually trailing upward to watch the same deep, crimson red gurgle in the mouth of his idol. As his legs shook from the pressure that had been placed on him, he could only watch as the light faded from his eyes, looking but never seeing. He began to drop with the man, his tears now hitting his red palms as he shook violently from what he had done. When everything around him seemed to be spinning and fading to black, he heard a voice. He paused for a moment, halting his crying for a mere second to hear what it had to say before he disappeared into the void around him.

"How long will it take for you to realize that this wasn't your fault?"