I.

I tried fighting it. The urge, the lust, the will to kill. No, not the will – the need. My fiber ached- my body rebelled. The wind, in its ever changing force, was a suitable companion to the volatility that was me.  It had been a while since my last kill, my last failure. My last loss of control. I hoped practice would give me more control, but it seemed that the more I honed my control, the more violent, the more deadly my lack of it became.

I had always been a union of opposites.

Tonight was too late. I’d begun losing it when I left my home for the city night. I knew that this night could, and would only end with a very red dawn. I’d battled with myself a lifetime – and was no closer to winning.

It was a beautiful night. Perfect in its utter chaos. The rain hammered the rooftops, deafening in its torrential patter. The thunderstorm, magnificent. In a particularly bright flash, I saw reflected in the water two orbs – cold, pale, and burning. I recognized them for my eyes. Searching, hunting. Hungry and filled to the brim with lust

He’d do.

I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what he was doing. Alone on a night like this. It was unseasonably cold. It was wet, miserable, terrifying, and beautiful. I didn’t care what he was doing. He was marked. I saw it now. I felt the pull as I felt it rising. The urge, the lust, the killing edge. He had to die. It was fate, destiny. I didn’t care. I knew it had to happen. I had to make it happen.

So I jumped.

Black, billowing all around me. I’d always loved black. I’d loved coats that could flow. Dramatic. Lovely. Deadly. Graceful. Softly I fell – like an angel, an angel of Death.

It was wet.

It soaked me. He didn’t notice the splash. I was silent, too silent. For a second, I wondered how I could be so quiet, how I could survive the fall. The thunder, he couldn’t hear me because of the thunder – but how the fall? I didn’t care. I knew what had to happen.

I was right behind him.

I slid closer. Stalking, flitting between shadows – or was I a shadow? I didn’t know, I didn’t care. The urge was overwhelming, the need. The lust. I had to do it, I needed to do it. I wanted to do it.

So I ripped him apart.


II.

I tried seeking help. It hadn’t worked. I woke one morning, the nightmares unusually terrible. I’d always known I wasn’t singular in my desires. My two halves loathed each other. I’d left for a hospital that dealt with lunacy. With freaks. I was sure I was crazy. I was sure I was a freak.

The room unsettled me.

It was too bland. Too impersonal. I didn’t like the white walls, the white bed. The white linen or my robes. I didn’t like the pale staff in their white uniforms, or the white checklists they walked around with.

I hated white.

But I persevered. I think I answered their questions. My memories are unclear. I wasn’t there long. I told them about my eyes – I don’t think they believed me. I was born with green eyes. Warm, deep, and green – like grass, or the Sea. My eyes weren’t warm anymore.

I’d woken up the night after my first kill to the sound of cracking. I didn’t know what it was. It seemed as though it was coming from everywhere at once. It took me a while to realize that it was coming from my head. I went to the mirror, to see if I could see this cracking.

I could.

My eyes were cracking. There’s no other way to describe it. I could see the cracks, shattering the warm green – leaving streaks of the palest blue. Jokingly society calls eyes windows to the soul. I knew it was true. If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I was cracking. I was fragmenting, unwinding at the seams. I tried telling them this.

Then I saw her.

She looked tired, worn-down. Haggard. I asked her what was wrong. Nothing. Naturally, everything was fine. It was my condition we should be worrying about. I disagreed. I continued prying, something was terribly wrong with her – I could taste it, feel it. Sense it.

She rolled up her sleeves. I looked at her arms. Then I saw it, no, felt it. She was suicidal – she’d taken something. I could hear it now, poisoning, slowing, and killing her. I could hear her heartbeat weakening by the second.

Then I felt it.  

The urge, the lust, the want, the need. I lost myself instantly. It had never been much of a war – one side always lost instantly to the other. I could see nothing but her, broken. I tried reaching for her, I couldn’t. Why?

I was tied down.

I couldn’t reach her. Why was I tied down? I had to reach her. I heard the cuffs snapping. She was starting at me – why was she staring at me? I didn’t like the staring.

So I took out her eyes.

I howled with pain as I ripped her apart – piece by piece. Or was it delight? I chuckled, laughed – no I cackled. I stained the white walls red, the linen crimson. I colored the floor and my patient’s robe the deepest and most beautiful red. Blood red. The best red.

I tried the door. It was locked. I hammered the door – it gave way. I wanted to go home, this place couldn’t help me. I flowed down the hallway, softly, forcefully – red robes billowing. I exulted; delighted in the smell – in the gore, in the taste of violence I left behind me.

The hospital was packed, everyone was running – screaming. Why were they running? Where were they running? They were running away from me. I didn’t blame them.

I was the only dressed in red.



III.

I’d always liked winter. It was soft, elegant – quiet. It was unforgiving, cold – and deadly. I’d always felt at home in it. I loved the soft crunch underfoot, the lazy drifting of falling snowflakes.

This place was beautiful.

I wasn’t quite sure where it was, but I was positive that it was more or less the middle of nowhere. The trees were lovely. Majestic pines – humbled by winter. I could see them straining under the weight of the snow, hear them creaking. So beautiful.

I often forgot what brought me to places. Perhaps I wasn’t sure. I’d felt a need, then been here. I don’t know how. I didn’t mind. The cold wouldn’t touch me, and it was beautiful. The snow felt wonderful against my skin – smooth, soft - Inexplicably soft.

I set about exploring. I felt like I should head towards the cliff over there. So I did. There was something about it – comforting, dark, solid. In a landscape all in white, where nothing seemed to have any unique texture, it stood as a colossus. Massive, strong – dark and firm. I drew closer, it was beautiful.

I saw that it wasn’t all dark. The top of it, snow-covered, was lit by the moon. I leapt up, landing softly on top. The jump was high – impossibly high. How? I asked myself.

I stood up.

I could see all around me. The moon was nearly full – pale, cold, beautiful. It lit everything in the softest silver shimmer. I sat down. It was silent. So very silent.

I saw something in the distance.

It clashed with it’s surroundings. In all this white – there was a rising grey. Smoke. I smelled it now – someone was out there, with a fire. Camping? At this time of year? I leapt from my perch.

I remember the jump – it was longer than I thought. I counted seconds as I fell – hurtling. I remember falling, quickly – heavy, like a meteor falling from above. I landed, softly. The contrast seemed impossible – but I didn’t mind. It was exhilarating, then perfect in it’s stillness. Silent, graceful – dramatic and deadly. A soft breeze brought me the scent.

Fire, smoke – and something else. I set off, a cold gleam to my eyes. I heard a shuffling, a beast? No. A man? Why was he out here? I couldn’t see him. Where was he? I saw him.

He was cold.

I approached him, he didn’t see me. I circled him, curious. Cautious. Why was he out here? Why was he cold? It wasn’t cold – I flexed my toes, digging them deeper into the snow. The snow was pleasant, cooling.

I could hear him mumbling through the sound of his teeth chattering. He was lost. I felt sorry for him – being lost on a night like this was horrible. I followed him a while, he wasn’t making any progress. The stench of his fire – how did he not smell it? It was right behind him, not more than a minute away.

He was going the wrong way.

The man was disoriented. He’d probably not eaten, or drunk for a while. He was beginning to lose his wits too – the cold did that to you. I didn’t think he’d make it.

I felt it.

The world disappeared around me – the snow, the moon, and the trees- everything but him. He had to die. He was going to die. If not to the cold, then to me. To me, let it be to me.

I followed him a while, relishing the moment. His smell – the smell I can never describe. The smell they all share. I began to tire of waiting, the lust too much. I needed it now. I leapt forward, impossibly far, I landed on top of him – hurtling him to the ground. He screamed.

He ruined the quiet.

I couldn’t stand that – the silence was so perfect. I ripped off his head. It shut him up. I took a while to just listen, to the silence, to the perfection. Then – I tore the rest of him apart.

I looked at my hands – could they really be called hands? They were silver, until the nails – the claws. Those were red, the moonlight not able to warp the thick crimson. I laughed, I howled.

I delighted.