Hate me-see if i care

Prologue

I never really knew death.

We were acquaintances, as I often saw them seeping from the darkest corners, stroking the burning life-fire, holding the soul as tightly as a child holds innocence, serene and poised, before snuffing the fire out.

But I never really knew them, never really felt them.

Now, with the blood of millions on my hands, I feel them.

I feel the fascination and wonder they have for the living in the way the bone-deep hunger for more balances with the fragility of life, the tears they wipe after they feast as they slip in a funeral and endure the sobs they created, the love they have for those who fight against them, knowing they too will eventually collapse in Death's arms.

Death is hope and despair and time,

and I see each version of death shed a tear when I take a life not yet ripe, not yet a fire, but a spark.

I was acquaintances with death, but now I am enemies, and I can only hope they will not find me anytime yet.