The Grief Striken Blade.

Some people believe that when people die their soul, or sprit, lives on, it is natural when people die their soul is automatically transported to Hell or Heaven; this is not the case. Some souls are left behind because they lived a poor life. Although I don’t know what the point was leaving them behind, but I do know this: angels and Heaven exist, but Hell and demons does not. God believed that his children shouldn’t suffer a painful agonizing afterlife no matter how much of a sinful path they lead while living God could not bear it. I know this because I can somehow contact the dead, no, I don’t know why or what caused the power.
I’ve had this power for as long as I can remember. The first sign of this developing power started to show when I started to have horrific dreams of a little girl drowning in a frozen pond. The girl was walking on the pond lightly but some she heard a gunshot from far away which made her jump, and her startled sudden movement cracked the cool ice, the girl struggled to float to the surface but the ice blocked her struggle to the surface, and then death came to collect her. The girl’s voice would echo in my head constantly as the dream went on, the voice would gradually grow louder and louder each time I dreamed her death. The girl would always whisper the same encrypted words:
“So cold, so dark…”
Her voice never seemed to have the hint of fear, it was oddly – calm. Many dreams, not unlike the first, twisted and warped my peaceful dreams into hellish nightmares. I have seen a number of spine chilling murders in my dreams, a girl being thrown in a far out ocean, she was no more than 3 years old, a boy being tricked into following a man into the woods thinking he would see a family of chipmunks living in a broken down tree, once there the man beaten the boy to death with a lead pipe.
When my father was brought to the custody of the police, and my mother being dead, I had no choice but to be raised in an orphanage at the tender age of 5. I hated it there, I still do. I am now 14. I was staring out the classroom window, not sure what I was thinking about, perhaps nothing, perhaps something.
“Joshua?” a husky voice broke my thought or no thought “Are you listening?” Mr Ray, the orphanage teacher asked.
It was hard to focus on anything with a number of soft, demands constantly chattering your head. So no, I wasn’t listening, but instead of saying “Yess, Mr Ray(!)”, the usual sarcastic answer he receives from most of his loving students here, I decided to say:
“No sorry.” I said keeping an eye on the clock.
Mr Ray. A kind man he’d always try to make us smile, unfortunately, the kids never seem to care. Mr Ray would sure take a weird way of trying to succeed in making us smile and that’s what made the kids uneasy. The other day he found a dead bird on the side of the road on his way to the orphanage, brought it into the classroom and turned it into a talking dead puppet.
“Polly wanna a cracker?” Mr Ray did a fake squawk.
It scared the classroom straight, some even complained of nightmares about zombie birds. Poor Mr Ray almost got sacked for that little stunt; luckily he wasn’t, though it wasn’t good news to class though.
“Joshua, you should really be paying attention this is important.” Mr Ray sighed pointing to the board with a piece of white chalk.
“I know it’s just—“
Before I could finish my sentence I saw small, what seemed like delicate, fragile snowflakes landing on my desk I stared blankly at the fragile snowflake, and it was staring back at me, playfully almost. More snowflakes fell on not only on my desk, but on my skin, and all in slow motion, they were a lot colder than they looked. As all this happened, I realized I was no longer in my classroom no longer with creepy delightful Mr Ray, but I was outside in, what looked like a frozen forest. The forest was covered in a white blanket of soft snow.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples intensely.
It’s happening again.
I took what seemed like a long time to figure out I didn’t know where I was. Usually, when I have these so called ‘visions’ it would give me a hint of where I was, like a saw a flash of a street sign or any sign really all in inverted colours but none seemed to appear.
Impatiently, I decided to find anything to give me where I was since nothing would show itself, I wanted to walk my way through the heavy blizzard and intensely cold atmosphere. I struggled to do this, I wanted to move, but at the same time, I didn’t. I wish I could explain better than this, but – I felt like if I made any movement, a landmine was waiting on the other side next to me .I made a noise of frustration escape my lips, I think it was a groan I wasn’t actually sure of my own action. I stomped my foot crushing the snow and converted, most of it anyway, to water. I cleared my throat, trying to momentarily distract me from my confusing anger, as if waiting for a bus or taxi.
Then I heard it – A high pitched scream, chilling my blood colder than the snow. I saw a figure collapsing to the snow making a muffled thud. It took me the peering of my eyes to figure out it was not one figure but two; one was on top of the other. I could not see their faces, it was usual for me when this happened; they were silhouettes, two struggling shadows. My scanning eye caught the movement of something that wasn’t there a moment ago; it was sleek and shiny: a knife. A knife was drawn from the top character.
I knew the ending to every story I witnessed by heart, and yet every time came to my face frozen in shock. I wished I could help, wished I could have bolted my way to the fight, wished I could fight the shadow, destroying it. But my wish came unheard, instead it ended in blood.
The moment snuck up on me so abruptly it must have put me in some new shock I had never faced before. I felt weak. My legs began to pulse such a relaxing state out towards my body that it made me collapse on my knees by force. My sight grew dimmer as my consciousness began to fade. The last thing I heard was the crunch of impacting snow being crushed by my being. And there I slept, in the feather like falling snow joined by blood.