Passion - I consist of the kill

I heard the clock tower twelve times. I quickly closed my eyes. I growled. I had a big exam tomorrow and now I had to run around killing people with my scythe. I turned my ruby in the golden ring of mine three times.
And there it appeared: my scythe. It was very clean, since I never left it bloody and all. I mean I want them to be awestruck and not that disgusting stuff, like puking and so on. Nope, they are not really my favorites.
In the beginning, when I started liking this kind of stuff like murder and torture (it made me happy and it was like an inner relief and masturbation), I was eight and I didn’t know that dried blood was bad for the steel of the scythe and the people puked and ran away, but I want them to be too afraid to run and I want them to see me as an angel, not a terrorist.
With my black wings of a raven and the torn dress with just a few blood stains and the bloody bandages on my arms and legs I DID remind of an arch-angel. That is what I am: a fallen angel. I am sent from Odium to kill one specific woman; we have to meet by FATE, without knowing who she is, with no information until I meet her. Then Hate would fill me. It is a biological message by my Creator.
Intelligence just gave me the virtue of strategy when it comes to a fight. Intelligence just gave me a hint, that the woman is an angel that once was in love with Hatred, who once was an arch angel. He gave me the soul with the gene of this gift in the dirty place of god’s servants.
I never, ever was against this job, I enjoy it!
The blood, that runs down their necks when I slit their throats and the screams that fill the night. The hurt faces which turn pale like wax as soon as their time is over.
I like it.
I don’t have any friends.
I once had one. His name was Jeremy, but when blood-lust took over my violent senses in a very good night I knew his address and hunted him down. When I saw him dead on the floor with a lake of blood around him, I felt sickness and I puked. I cleaned up everything and healed his wounds with my powers and put down my ring in a well hidden place. I laid him in the park. I put a spell on his body that no one ever should know about the murderer, me. I killed myself that night, again, trying to kill the monster in me, forever. It had killed my humanity and now I wanted to kill this monstrosity. It hadn’t worked, since this monster of Hatred and Nex had made me immune against suicide. Now I hate them.
Intelligence had known I’d one day take such a step and decide to kill myself instead of innocent homeless people.
When I hurt myself, I bleed, but there’s no pain, neither any other reaction of the body, that could be bad, sadly. I would rather be dead, but since I live from their last breeze of air and the blood that runs down their necks in such a full red, I can’t resist. I was killed or born to do this.
Both of it comes to the same: Me as the death-bringing angel.
Yeah, I know, I could fight it, but I won’t win. I will never win, because of the blood-lust.
I have killed my first love, my best friend. He was my only friend.
I fought against myself again and again and I don’t win. I never will.
It doesn’t matter how I twist it. It doesn’t matter how I try, I’ll never get the thing I want: self-control.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. I felt a slight pain at both sides of my back. I folded my hands, as if I prayed. As I concentrated myself on the black wings growing out of my back I always mumbled the same word.
I mumbled death in Latin.
Something grew out of my mouth and stung my full lips. A drop of blood ran down my chin and down my neck. It went down until it ran down between my breasts. More blood ran down my neck. It felt nice.
The blood changes the skin, that it touches and I change my looks to a demon.
When I finally opened my eyes when the sting in my back stopped, I saw everything much clearer than before. Not so weak and strange, but I recognized the colors better than a few minutes before. I went to my closet and got out my white dress. It was a beautiful new dress I had gotten two days ago.
I didn’t like it now, when I look at it with my new eyes I get at night.
I took the scissors of the desk and held the dress with the other hand.
My breasts grew a bit more, now they were nearly pressed together.
I ripped at the sleeves and the dress still looked beautiful, but more my style, now that I’m death, personally.
Today I had to kill two old men, two women and one girl which live on the street.
I didn’t put on shoes and I fell out of the window of my bedroom and flew out in the darkness of the night to Fatal Road.

In the morning I still heard the scream of the little girl I had killed.
I got my cereals with warm milk and put in hot chocolate. My blond hair was a bit more tamed, since I’d just showered. Good, that it was Saturday; otherwise I wouldn’t stand school with all those kids staring.
On Saturday, school starts at noon until six o’clock. Enough time to study and sleep.
Dad was already sitting in the living room, watching the news I just wanted to watch. I sat next to him, giving him a big kiss on the cheek. He gently took my cereal, put it away and then held me tight.
“Fal, you know that I love you, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, Dad, I love you even more.” It was a lie, I can’t love anyone, but my father is closest to it and I would learn love just for him, I if could. I snuggled into his hug. When his strong arms hold me I always forget who I actually am and I forget all those terrified faces which lose their life.
“Alfalfa, you are my butterfly, I don’t want you to get hurt like all these people since eight years. Yesterday the person killed a little girl.”
I sobbed. Since so long I wanted to tell him everything, but I can’t...
“Dad, why can’t this monster stop?”
I started shaking, since I haven’t cried in such a long time.
I felt relieved, free; free from all those dead. Suddenly, I heard the voice of the reporter of the news. Now they would announce the death rate that had dramatically increased.
I looked at the TV screen and saw something terrible. There was this red line, that showed how the rate had gotten higher and there was just a clean and straight red line going from the left bottom of the screen to nearly the top right of the screen.
The reporter announced the names of the people that have died last night. Truthfully the girl was a terrible mistake of mine, but I didn’t have control over my mind.
I got up and mumbled something like “I’m going to the bathroom”.
I walked straight to the door and entered the bathroom. Like I was hypnotized I walked to the sink and looked into the mirror. There wasn’t me with my blond buns and the few hairs that escaped the two of them on the left and right of my head, but a girl whose eyes were scarlet and wild and the hair uncombed and beautiful flying around her shoulders.
It curled down to her hips and her skin was pale as a white sheet of paper.
I snarled at the mirror and the girl seemed to fade and show a much nicer and shier girl which had two buns and light red eyes and a few hairs flying in her face. She only had a little bit of mascara on and she had a lot of hysteric red dots in her face and just now I noticed how swollen the eyes were.
I tilted my head down and opened the tab of the cold water and splashed some of it in my face.
Good, that the mascara is water-proof, otherwise I might die.
I wanted to study a bit more so I quickly got the cereal of the table in the living room, slurped it down and got in my room and fetched out my school book for the exam today.
I sat on my bed and while I read through everything I started to lie down and drifted away and I started to sleep.

* * *
When I woke up, I looked at my watch and saw that I had only slept half an hour and two minutes.
At least now I know why I feel crap.
I went to look at myself in the mirror. I saw a big mark of the pillow and my eyes were blood-shot, great.
I went in the direction of the bathroom. My hair was easily combed, but it felt as if I should wash it. But I didn’t because they looked just fine and I’ve just washed them today. My red eyes looked worse.
Yes, my eyes are red, but not, because they are blood-shot, they have a red iris. When my eyes are blood-shot or swollen, they remind of Voldemort’s. It looks terrible. I closed my eyes and concentrated.

Demon...demon...wake up inside me. Make me beautiful, as beautiful as you. Make me look as wonderful and mighty as you. O Demon, make me look like you.

My face stretched and I could feel my eyes sharpen and my hair regaining volume and my eyelashes grew. I felt my face getting more beautiful the second. My buns opened by themselves and my hair curled freely down to my hips.
Beauty comes in handy. Last time in maths, I didn’t study and when my maths teacher asked me something I bent over and my shirt showed my breasts and my scarlet eyes shined and I winked before I answered the only thing I remembered to it. He gave me an A.
I’m not a slut, I never will be. It’s just that I want to live of my doing. I want to become a bounty-hunter. I have everything planned and I will not give up until I have reached my dream. My father thinks I’m going to be a designer, and believe me, I can become a super-model, too.
Even though I liked my look I pulled my hair to a pony-tail.
I hope dad won’t mind. He always asks me, why in heaven’s sake, my face changes and I can look so different by the second. I only answer: well, dad, make-up can change everything, if you want it to.
I left the bathroom, and didn’t know what to do, since I still have seven and a half hours.
In my misery I take my cell phone and dial the number of that teacher yesterday.