A Trilogy of Hate

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

A mysterious short-story of a man who copes with his life of violence, hate, anger, and death. This excerpt is the first of many in a work-in-progress titled, "The Super Chronicles", by D. L. Arens.

A Trilogy of Hate

Anger Becomes Us

 

 He was angry. He was alone. I had a family once; I had friends, he thought as he put on his black suit. He looked at himself in the mirror as he dressed. Even in his deathly, black suit, he still saw himself as weak. It was his face… no; it was his eyes. By looking into his own eyes, he could see right through himself. He saw his anger, his hope, his fear, his loss. He didn’t see himself for what he wanted to be; he saw himself for what he had become. His eyes were the window to his undoing. He knew this, for he had looked into the eyes of many men as he had taken their lives; and from this, he had found that a man defines himself by the everlasting impression he makes through his final blinking stare. He clenched his fists at the thought, feeling the leather of his gloves stretch around his knuckles. Rejecting the moment, he grabbed his mask and pulled it over his head. “That’s better,” he said with a sense of satisfaction.

Turning from the mirror, he opened his apartment window and looked down upon the city street, three stories below. With a single bound, he leaped from his window, leaving his life behind him, and entering a world of revenge.  

Hate Everlasting

 

He had heard the screams, but he was too late. Not but three yards away from where he held the man, lie a beautiful young woman… dead. Her clothes were torn free and her throat, slit. He held the murderer against the floor as he looked into the man’s eyes. He saw lust, he saw lies; the man’s soul was stained black with evil. He made the man look at what he had done. He made the man see the pain he had wrought; and when the murderers face became streaked with tears of revelation, he made him feel it. He made the murderer feel the cold, sharp edge of his blade as it slid across his throat. The man’s body went limp as his crime-stained essence flowed down his chest.

A Window of Undoing

The man’s face turned red as he held him by the throat. He had fought the gang off of the innocent family, but there were many of them. He killed and he killed, until he had killed all but one. His black suit was tattered and torn from the cuts of blades, and the impact of harmless bullets. In the midst of the fighting he had lost his black mask, his only true protection. The man he held now was more boy, than man. He held him, putting every bit of his anger into the grip of his hand. He wanted to kill the boy… he wanted to kill them all. When he knew there couldn’t be much life left in him, he looked into the boy’s eyes… the eyes of death; the eyes he had looked into hundreds of times before.

When he did, he saw the soul of evil, but it was not the boy’s. The boy’s eyes acted, not as windows, but as mirrors. He saw the reflection of himself, and not his masked-self, but he for who he truly was. He released the boy, leaving him gasping for breath.

Turning from the boy, he walked to the edge of the rooftop from which they stood, and looked down upon the city street, many stories below. With a single step, he fell from the building, leaving revenge behind him, and entering a world of revelation. 


Submitted: April 25, 2012

© Copyright 2022 D L Arens. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Colin Hathaway

This is absolutely beautiful. Awesome word choice and a really great meaning behind this. Really nice job:)

Wed, April 25th, 2012 10:49pm

Author
Reply

Thank you very much. This peice is one of many in a story I am writing called "The Super Chronicles". Hope you enjoy.

Thu, April 26th, 2012 1:02pm

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