I'd been waiting for this day for too long. The thought of blood splattering on my skin as I hacked away at those who had wronged me, forgiving their sins against me with every well-placed slash of my blade was a thought that made me shudder in pleasure. Sure, I might be sick, but at least I know what I want. I want to degrade those who have wronged me to a meaningless nothing. I want them to return to the dust of the earth from where they came.
I saw my target. The raven haired fellow who had destroyed my life back three long years ago. I ran a thumb over the brass knuckles on my fist and swooned forward. "Can I help you?" he said, his voice a growl.
Yes, of course good sir, I thought, can you reanimate the dead and change the past? Can you make my little brother innocent again? Can you make my life perfect, with a home, a mother and a father? No? Huh.
I didn't say anything, just watched him. He looked aggressive, ready for a brawl. Well, good sir, I do encourage you to throw the first punch.
"What are you, slow? Say somethin'," he said poetically, cuffing my ear.
Kill him. Kill him. He killed your mother and your childhood. He made you a refugee. Kill him. Kill him.
Instead of speaking, I slugged him. My brass knuckles left imprints on his face. I smiled and landed a powerful kick to his chest. He tumbled backwards and met the ground, releasing a small huff as the wind was knocked out of him. I placed my boot on his throat and said in a breath, "Do you remember me?"
He shook his head and coughed. He replied in a raspy voice, "N-no...who are you?"
I pushed down harder on his throat and said, "I'm the kid who's mom you killed back three years ago. Remember now? I shot your friend. And now it's your turn."
Somehow he managed to reply, "Oh yeah, I know you. You're the whore's son."
What happened next was a blur. All I know was that I was slicing off his cheeks the last I remembered.
He was screaming and crying, but I didn't stop. Just like how he didn't stop when my mother plead for mercy at his feet. I shivered in fury and stabbed my knife into his palm. He let out a weak cry and trembled.
"I want for you," I said, panting heavily, "to experience the pain you put me through." And with that I took a bite out of his arm. I ripped the flesh away and swallowed it. Blood trickled from my lips, the taste of copper dancing on my tongue. He retched and wept like a little child, his face covered in clear streams of tears. I spat bloody saliva onto his face and said, "You are weaker than I thought." I then continued my feast until he stopped moving.
Two down, two to go...
