They Walk Among Us
The Begining
All the things he had done, all the crimes commited, were laid out infront of him. Each body laid on the old, rotting wood of the gallows. Each cold, dead body was another slap to his face- or it was suppose to be.
His work, his creations were morbid images for the croud surrounding him. If they weren't so pitiful he would have killed them all. He would have taken their lives with the others. But no, these people, the dead bodies laid before him, were his masterpeices. Cold, stone-like faces with pale, slim necks and angelic faces in their deep sleeps. Each one was beautiful, like faces carved from stone. Dressed in white, in a complete circle around their murder's gallow they lay. He half expected them to get up and twirl around him in their frail bodies.
The death prossesion began.
"Cadel X," The executioner's deep voice beakoned to Cadel. Cadel had no last name. It was just X.
"Cadel X," he repeated to himself, his pale face looking down apon the beautiful bodies, a grim smile spread across his lips.
"You have been charged with the death penalty for killing over twenty people in this town." The executioner read, coughing at the end. "So be it that you have murdered, you shall reach death yourself."
Cadel looked through his long hair at the villagers. None were looking back at him. The scum. They were staring at his art with blank expressions, their lips flatened in thin white lines. None showed sorrow, they were past that feeling long ago.
As the executioner read though the names of the bodies, most of them female, Cadel remembered each one. He was a master a picking locks and sneaking around houses on his cat like feet.
Nina, Cadel thought as he turned his head to look at the dark haired girl. Nina had been a special one... He remembered how she was reading by the fire when he had snuck into her house one night. He had grabbed her rich, long, dark hair from behind and had skimmed a knife delicately across her pale cheek. He remembered her gasp, and the fear in her big doe eyes.
He had thrown her across the room, the blood spilling a neat line as she followed. She was an easy kill. Cadel wished he had the knife again, but the bastards took it away from him. Most of the bodies were in the same position as Nina had been when he killed them. The men were strong though, and Cadel had some struggle.
Jacob, Cadel remembered as his name was read. Jacob was a big, strong, black man who worked well with his hands. His carmel skin was terrible with blood on it, so Cadel had washed him after the fire pick went through his forehead.
Cadel suddently heard silence and lifed his head. The executioner had gotten onto the platform and was at the leaver. Cadel struggled with the bloody rope collar around his neck.
"I have no regrets..." he whispered. "I have no regrets!"
Cadel started laughing and the villager's eyes widened in shock at the madman before him.
"I'll be back!" He cackled, his huge eyes straining. "I'll be back and you'll all pay for your act of treason!"
The leaver was soon pulled and Cadel's body went numb and limp. His arms fell from stretching to the bodies that were being burned along with him...
At least he would die with his art.
His work, his creations were morbid images for the croud surrounding him. If they weren't so pitiful he would have killed them all. He would have taken their lives with the others. But no, these people, the dead bodies laid before him, were his masterpeices. Cold, stone-like faces with pale, slim necks and angelic faces in their deep sleeps. Each one was beautiful, like faces carved from stone. Dressed in white, in a complete circle around their murder's gallow they lay. He half expected them to get up and twirl around him in their frail bodies.
The death prossesion began.
"Cadel X," The executioner's deep voice beakoned to Cadel. Cadel had no last name. It was just X.
"Cadel X," he repeated to himself, his pale face looking down apon the beautiful bodies, a grim smile spread across his lips.
"You have been charged with the death penalty for killing over twenty people in this town." The executioner read, coughing at the end. "So be it that you have murdered, you shall reach death yourself."
Cadel looked through his long hair at the villagers. None were looking back at him. The scum. They were staring at his art with blank expressions, their lips flatened in thin white lines. None showed sorrow, they were past that feeling long ago.
As the executioner read though the names of the bodies, most of them female, Cadel remembered each one. He was a master a picking locks and sneaking around houses on his cat like feet.
Nina, Cadel thought as he turned his head to look at the dark haired girl. Nina had been a special one... He remembered how she was reading by the fire when he had snuck into her house one night. He had grabbed her rich, long, dark hair from behind and had skimmed a knife delicately across her pale cheek. He remembered her gasp, and the fear in her big doe eyes.
He had thrown her across the room, the blood spilling a neat line as she followed. She was an easy kill. Cadel wished he had the knife again, but the bastards took it away from him. Most of the bodies were in the same position as Nina had been when he killed them. The men were strong though, and Cadel had some struggle.
Jacob, Cadel remembered as his name was read. Jacob was a big, strong, black man who worked well with his hands. His carmel skin was terrible with blood on it, so Cadel had washed him after the fire pick went through his forehead.
Cadel suddently heard silence and lifed his head. The executioner had gotten onto the platform and was at the leaver. Cadel struggled with the bloody rope collar around his neck.
"I have no regrets..." he whispered. "I have no regrets!"
Cadel started laughing and the villager's eyes widened in shock at the madman before him.
"I'll be back!" He cackled, his huge eyes straining. "I'll be back and you'll all pay for your act of treason!"
The leaver was soon pulled and Cadel's body went numb and limp. His arms fell from stretching to the bodies that were being burned along with him...
At least he would die with his art.