The Black Parade

The Call sounds over a wild landscape, which suddenly turns as silent and still as the perspiration sticking to the back of my shirt. My breathing slows at a rapid pace, suddenly, I am breathing normally again, in a place far different than I was in previously.

The fetid grasses of a mid-west plain, stained with blood and littered by decomposing human body parts, were no longer. I was among the black and white ruins of a once beauteous city, from what I could tell, the land surrounding was barren and lifeless. No blood was to be found, just the cry of a lone man in a hospital gown, and the drone of captivating music in the distant sky.

My sweaty and bloodstained attire was gone, and I felt clean and shaved as I hadn't in months. In its place was a corseted mini dress, covering black and white striped tights, leading to black lace covered Mary Jane’s.

"Hilarious," I thought, my name was the same as my shoes. I had vowed never to wear such shoes again, private school was horrid enough.

Mary Jane Venin was my name, and I was the infamous serial killer, Vengeance So Sweet.

I thought that my normal and serial names were horrible, but I had been called enough names when my parents used and abused me, I was used to it. The field I had been on before was the dumping ground for my victims, the police still hadn't found it, but they had found the first two.

I had taken the lives of a thousand evil men, which was why the public had given me more of a vigilante name than a mass-murdering bitch name. There were those that had looked up to me, practically idolized me, until I tried to kill an innocent, the wrong person. He was currently fighting for his life in Mercy hospital, to make matters worse; he had already been diagnosed with stage-three cancer. The populace now entirely scorned me, as they should for my actions.

I am a cold blooded killer

The thought echoed across my mind as I let a solitary tear track across my cheek. For all of the abuse I had suffered, for all of the lives that I had needlessly taken. A sudden wave of emotion crashed over me, I fell down to my knees, salty tears now streaming down my face.

I looked back at the man.

He turned to face me, gaunt features standing out prominently against sunken cheek bones. He was the survivor... the innocent man, the one that I stabbed in the gut with a blunt knife. A bloody stain began to spread across the bleach white patient’s gown, soaking every fiber of the cheap white material.

He looked at me with pleading eyes, "Why?"

I futilely tried to answer, but was too choked with tears to do so. He nodded solemnly and grasped the medal around his neck that had remained unnoticed to me. The music seemed to get closer, drumming on my very bones, the patient disappeared.

I stared at the place he was in, just a moment ago, heedless of the people approaching, or the haunting drumbeat that they marched to.

I didn't hear the crackling footsteps over burned rubble, as someone treaded over to me. An arm laid itself across my trembling shoulders. I sniffed back tears and turned my head away from the gentle presence, ashamed of myself. I felt hot breath on my neck; a whisper followed the steady breathing and warm lips found my ear:

"You've been a very bad girl, Mary Jane."