A body slumps to the floor, blood spraying out from a hole in the mans head. His body jerks momentary before the remaining life drains and his heart comes to a stop but his eyes remain open, looking out into forever without seeing a thing. The blood continues to leak from the hole and slowly spread across the wooden floor boards until they reach a pair of shoes. The feet take a step back. The man stands with a pistol in his right hand, the smoke still drifting from the chamber and his finger still tugging back hard on the trigger. The look in his eyes is one of panic and confusion, He looks down to the man that lies dead at his feet by his own hands, the very same hands which shake uncontrollably and are covered by a layer of sweat. A drop of sweat runs down his arm and runs off his finger, it dips into the pool of blood.
His eyes remain firmly stuck on his poor victim; the man hadn’t seen it coming. He knew he hadn’t meant to do it, he never meant to pull the trigger but it happened. He watches as the man lies on the floor, he thought it seemed like he was asleep but even so the sleeping moved more than this man ever could, ever again. His eyes shifted along the floor boards that were painted red. It amazed him, the amount of blood a human body holds at a single time but more so that long after the heart had finished beating that the blood still ran from his wound as if the last command the brain made to was relocate all the ruby liquid to the newly formed exit. But just as much as it amazed him, it also sickened him, staring down into the wound.
He bent down resting on one knee and peered closer at the wound. He noticed the shattered edges of the skull were sharp and jagged, to him he could see a pattern. He eyes wondered deeper into the wound, past the skull and into the man’s head. It was hard to make out anything in the small red drenched hole but nothing could draw away his eyes. The blood had slowed; the body was almost completely empty of the fluid life.
The man reached into his suit’s jacket’s inner pocket retrieving a white handkerchief. He wraps it around his index finger and leans forward, wiping the wound clean with slow strokes from the inside out until it was clear and the pure white bone of the skull attracted his attention. It was whiter than he had believed it would be, he had always thought the bones would be a pale pink or red colour, stained from years of contact with blood, muscle and organs. Time almost seemed to halt as he withdrew his finger from the now clean wound and his eyes gained a first hand glimpse of his unforeseen handy work. It’s beautiful he thought.
It seemed like minutes of nothing but silent admiration had passed with his eyes taking in every possible detail. He could draw the hole in the skull from his mind’s eye with utter perfection. He would never forget the bullets trail that left its mark travelling through the skull, like a miniature well driven through the soft matter of the brain that held its form even after death. His mind processed every little detail within seconds, locking it into the forefront of his mind ready to be called on again and revisited for another rush.
A cruel twisted grin slowly tugged at either side of his lips which is when it hit him for the first time, the smell, it lingered it the air filling up the room but his mind was too busy to notice before but now he took in a deep breath through his nostrils, it was like nothing he had ever smelt before and nothing he would ever smell again he reckoned. It was neither sweet nor bitter, it wasn’t strong nor weak but it was its own scent that would be impossible for him to put into words in his life time but he knew what it was. It was the smell of Death. And although he couldn’t explain it he knew he would remember it and long for it once again to fill his senses.
His mind filled with an image, the figure of a human shrouded in darkness, being nothing and everything, being nowhere and always there, having no life but always taking life. His eye lids shut and he embraced the black that covered his vision. He kept them shut tight and slowly breathed in the stench that was disturbing the air; it felt so right that he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done so before but something deep inside told him to open his eyes, so he did. They opened on the lifeless body before him but darkness was on the other side of the body and he felt it staring into him so he lifted his eyes up and saw, he saw Death.
The darkness became all his vision could see, he could not tell if it was standing or floating but it hardly mattered to him as his heart jumped and missed a beat. His body released a surge of chemicals into his system, it made him want to move but nothing would listen to his brains commands. He remained looking into the depth of black before him, it seemed to shift and whirl but he eyes couldn’t make out any movement. Then he heard it, it was in his head like a whisper reverberating through his mind, the silent words of force that offers only one thing, Death.
He listened to the words countless times; it seemed to repeat itself without end but he understood its message. It was praising him. It was commanding him. It was condemning him. It was releasing him. And now he knew exactly what he had to do. Blood had to be spilt and life had to be ended without mercy and without forgiveness. Nothing could stop it, it had to happen and now he was to be part of the solution.
Within his soul, heart and mind he silently accepted. He felt his essence turning black with the ashes of hell, his soul being eaten and his heart slowing, it pumped, it pumped and then it pumped no more.
He still looked into the darkness and the darkness looked into him as his eyes lost their colour and filled with endless blackening. The Darkness began to recede but its last whispered words were filtered into his mind… “You’re my Favourite Demon…”
Distant voices of young girls reciting a rhyme quietly echo in the background.
“As angels die across the floor, a stranger comes a knockin’ at your door.
His heart is black and dead to light; His eyes reflecting back the night.
A thirst still longs for your blood, breaking the walls to free the flood.”