The last thing I wanted to do was hurt people. In fact, I wanted to do the exact opposite.
For years people have have clawed at me, transforming me from that sweet, innocent child, into an indestructible killing machine.
People cower in their homes as dusk settles. Once night falls, I'm scouring the streets for my next target.
Everyone around here despises me. They call me a sin because I kill their own.
I used to think that "evil" was a supernatural, dark force.
Now, I believe that it requires a human mind to truly be evil, to make choices without regard to other people or the suffering one might cause, because it causes pain as well as suffering.
For example, a hurricane can be a bad thing -- but it can't be evil because it isn't a being that can choose to do harm.
I check my watch:
One more minute.
The orange sun standing against the violets would've made for a beautiful sunset, if the town wasn't overrun with trepidation. It's not like I chose to be like this; I was forced to be.
I glance down at my watch:
Three seconds.
Two seconds.
One.
A small flash of white streaks past my line of vision. In the blink of an eye, I've leapt out from the shadows and the game of kill or be killed has begun.
The small boy's strides are half of what I can do; I'll have him in my grasp in a matter of minutes.
The sound of feet slamming against the concrete cuts through the silence like fingernails against chalkboards. The boy stumbles and spirals into a fall as I hurl out and catch him.
Pinning him down, it's easier to get a look at what he's made of. The dark alleyways fall silent. The streetlights have flickered on by now; not long now.
"Better make it fast," he spats. "I don't want to suffer."
His small face, illuminated by the light, is covered in sweat and fear. He's a tiny kid for his age; could probably pass as a five-year old.
My eyes accidentally meet his for a millisecond. Without warning, his past, present, and future surge through my mind in flashbacks; from winning the science fair to getting married. After learning his name, address, birthday, and even his fears, something alien arises within me.
Empathy.
This kid has been through hell; it's not fair that he has a gory end, when others before him had a peaceful one.
I push stray hairs away from his face. His eyes bore into me, daring me to do it. "I am not going to kill you." I whisper.
Confusion flits across his face. "You've never shown mercy, not once in your life." He draws a shaky breath, "Rules state that if you catch me you kill me. If you don't-"
I cut him off. "The rules stated that if you were out after curfew, you become part of the game. Yes, I caught you, but this time it's different. I saw something, and it told me that you're not ready to die. If you get up and go now, I will pretend I never saw you."
As I free the boy, he stays mute, only allowing the soft pitter patter of his feet to echo as he returns home.
My first release.
I sit there for what feels like a few hours, but judging from the stars it's only been 20 minutes. My feet begin to numb, so I rise, doing a quick 360-rotation of my surroundings.
A large hand lunges at me and clasps around my shoulder, flinging me into the wall. My back smashes into something sharp. Rapidly, it erupts in agonizing pain, spreading out from my shoulder and down to my elbows. Blood begins soaking through the shirt and starts to working its way through the leather in my jacket.
A tall, stocky silhouette stands in front of me. "You denied my direct order; don't look them in the eye."
"It's not like I meant to." I snap.
"Even so, you shouldn't have let that one go. You have shown weakness. Once again, you have disappointed me."
I stare at the floor. "So now what? You punish me?" My voice rises in anguish, "I only let him live! Only saved his life! And what? You're going to kill me, because I did the sane thing, for once in my life?! If that's the case, then so be it. Just go ahead and-"
His hand makes contact with my face, causing an ear-splitting crack to disperse into the air. My cheek stings - no doubt there's going to be an impression. "Don't talk back to me like that! You've only angered me more." He says.
"Then kill me." I say, clenching my jaw tightly.
He laughs. "I'm not going to kill you. In fact, I'm going to do something on the contrary."
He raises his arms, and begins to chant in a foreign language. My insides twist and turn, as if I'm being smashed into a two-dimensional object. My knees buckle as I fall into a fetal position; the pain is unbearable. My shoulder flares up in agony once more. You can do this. When I open my eyes again, the pain slowly subsides.
Now looking up, I'm not where I was before. Blank white walls surround me, with only the reflections of myself staring back at me. He's placed me into a glass mirror. Panic rises within me.
I scream. "Get me out of here!"
"Such a shame, having to put you in such a tight fix. Maybe next time, you'll learn to follow orders. But in the meantime, I'm sure you'll find this space to your liking." He grins.
"I SAID GET ME OUT OF THIS THING!" I bellow.
He mocks my behavior as if it were a joke. "I wish I could, but some curses cannot be undone. Hope you have a nice life, Bloody Mary."
