The Sharpest Lives

The trees shuddered against the mysterious breeze as the full moon cowered behind the luminous clouds. The black sky haunted the graveyard and the cold wind pressed against my face as I tip-toed across the graves.

The creature that had made my life a living hell scurried home, searching through the thick black canvas for the narrow gravel path. At least he had a home, somewhere to call his own, a loving family. He had succeeded in eliminating all of that from my life too.

The innocent stones clicked together as his heavy weight trudged over them, bringing them to their lonely death. Everybody dies alone. That, in my opinion, is a fact. And I will make bloody sure he dies alone and in pain. He deserves it.

The path meandered around a slight bend, bringing him further towards me.

It was time for revenge. His apathy and abuse were about to pay off.

Revenge was always something I had dreamed about, right from the very first time I met him in those unfortunate circumstances; right from the age of six until now. When he forced himself upon me, I would dream of how I could kill him. Yes, it was sick. But it is the only way I have survived. Until now.

My spiked boots crunched across the rock-strewn pathway as my hand impatiently fingered the dagger.

My mind had a gash through the center, separating right from wrong. Of course I knew it was wrong. Did I care? Absolutely not. He had ruined my life. It was time to ruin his.

I stopped, slouched against the mausoleum door which groaned in pain. Just like the pain I’ve suffered through my life.

He sauntered by, a glint in his eye as he knew he had cheated his life so far. He knew he had taken everything from me that he could, except for one thing.

I pushed my hood further over my face and pursued my victim.

I couldn’t stop now. This was the only way to put an end to the neglect. The power he had held over me had pushed me to do this. It was his own fault. All these years of excruciating pain, in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. These years of emptiness and fear could end with just one blow. To inflict pain on him, the same unbearable pain as had been tormenting me for my entire miserable existence.

I swiftly found my arm around his neck, hissing in his ears, finally able to let all of my hurt out.

“I hate you!” I growled, reflecting my image into his face using the shining silver of the dagger.

Twelve stabs in the back before he went down.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps dawn upon me.

I had to hide the evidence, and quickly. I lifted the corpse up and draped it over a gravestone, the dagger still stiff in his back. He was much too heavy to carry so I left him there. I panicked and fled.

A coarse scream pierced the dark, horror, as this stranger discovered the mangled mess. What would I do now?

My head span. I thought the pain would go, the constant suffering and agony he had put me through would vanish, disappear, just like he had now.

A cry for help came from the grave.

“He’s dying! Help! Please, somebody help!”

“He was dead a long time ago,” I muttered harshly under my breath.

I still didn’t know if I had done the right thing. The emotional pain was still there despite him departing from the dishonest realms of this Earth.

I glanced at the weeping cuts on my wrist.

His.

He had made me do that. And now he was gone. Surely I should be relieved?

The grief was overwhelming me as I hopelessly attempted to convince myself that it would be okay.

Currently, I had this stranger to deal with.

I lapped the congealing blood from my hands, relishing the taste as I struggled over to where the pleas were being hurled from.

I quickly drew the dagger from the bloodied body and raised it, listening to the stranger weep for freedom.

He had done nothing wrong. He was merely a good Samaritan trying to help a dying man. Except that the man did not deserve to live.

The screams of terror and the pleas for mercy increased as I approached the hysterical figure.

“Everybody dies alone,” I hissed.

Then all was quiet.

The body hit the solid floor with a thud as the strangers last breath escaped from a lifetime of happiness and innocence.

What had I done?

I had just killed a stranger, that’s what. Was I really that deluded that I mercilessly just took an innocent man’s life. Was I really that insane, that mentally unstable?

I could not cope now, the pain was too much. He had won.

I sliced the tip of the blade across my arms and legs, releasing my inner poison. I had to escape from my lifetime of misery and abuse. What was left for me now? My family had disowned me, I had slaughtered two people and I would either be on the run or be facing a lifetime sentence in prison.

Tears crept through my eyes as I leaned against the grave, a pair of corpses distorted in front of me.

Who had done this? Not I.

The dagger flew to my heart, the one place that was never taken by him.