Eyes of Hell:
My story doesn't start. My story doesn't have a deadline where it shall end.
My story is that of a demonic curse; an endless lifetime of murder, pain I cause ruthlessly, blood I shed carelessly.
I don't begin. I don't come to an end.
I slide through the fabric of time, hopping from past, present, future and back. It goes according to my desires, driven by the stamp of my curse, an artful design over my eye that takes the shape of a single flame.
Time for me is an instrument; I tiptoe across the cords, echoing my own melody. It is my free range of motion I often feel as though I control with the point of my blade or an ominous snap in my bow.
I don’t have memories of a life that was human, that was not bound by the Devil's own leash. I don't remember a cause for the curse. My only memories are two. The first is bloodlust and the second is my pitiable victims…
Those I've killed out of sympathy, or just for fun…
To change an occurrence in the present or fork away from the future's route…
People I have crushed in my grip to satisfy my blind, bloodthirsty wimps…
I know the memory of my pleasure as I saw their freshly spilt blood drip slowly off my blade… drops that fuel my cursed immortality… that sustain the brilliance in my sight, eyes forged from hell's own coals, windows that open to man's worst nightmare.
And I have memories of my soulless anguish as I took the life of those I am on a constant, unstoppable hunt to seize: the many ones I am destined to love. The key to unlock the dormancy from around my soul… if only the will of my love was strong enough
But I am a deathly dancer. I am a murderer without conscience. I am damned to go blind at a whiff of life my demons desire.
And my saviors were always my very favorite…
I spun a merry dance of hola-hoop as I sent my daggers fly through my fingers toward their intended aim—the eyes of the ones captivated by my haunted beauty.
I watched them sleep as I planned the perfect crime scene…
I stalked them into darkened allies, and enjoyed their fear as the moonlight passed over my blades…
I breathed in the sweet anticipation for their dramatic demise.
The final pant of spent life was an orgasm shattered by agony like molten blaze… another proof that It emerged the victor yet again.
Now I am on another driven assassination.
I run through the forest of my future, seeking another victim I am supposed to love. I duck under branches that stand no chance in the face of my force. I leap over rivers of the tears I have left in my wake.
Nothing withstands my audacity of breaking the most sacred of laws. Nothing represents a worthy dare…
My blood boils with escalating ecstasy. I could smell his unsuspecting closeness; I could feel the ignorance of sorrowful fate.
I smile wide, full of ego as I race hot on his trail. My fingers close around my bow as I reach for a poisoned arrow
But the scent eludes. It disappeared, no longer leading ahead. It dashed back around.
Ignoring the confusion, my smile grows bigger as I welcome this pitiful challenge.
I halt midway, ruffling up the fallen leaves, suspended off the ground.
I turn around and come face to face with a surprise so great, a shock that holds me like a vise.
Never before have I been the target. Never before have I been the object of malevolent pursuit
Never before have I experienced the fear of facing a point of a blade. It was brief, only a flash, a mere errant remnant of a life long, long gone.
My feet land.
I gather my rage and feel a human shake as I hold my bow and arrow in hostility. I feel the forgotten danger in this attack, the virgin touches of threat.
I implore an explanation as I stare into his eyes of liquefied dusk. Mine hold the fire of a sinking sun.
His hold no love for me, while mine speak the promise of a deadly kiss.
Neither of us moves, but I detect as unwilling softening around my edges, followed by a vicious burn in my Scar.
My sight fogs and my strength wane.
I close my eyes tight, a frantic attempt to clear the obscuring mist. They spring open at the sound of his sword slice through the air, targeting my tattooed eye.
I don't raise my weapon. I hold my ground.
For the first time in this ungodly existence I don't want to react.
I am drained of my evil fight.
I am glad.
His sword lands its strike and I fall apart. I am flung into million pieces.
It might have taken hours of my eternity. It might have only been moments of time that made no sense to me before, but I come together at the dream of an enlivening kiss.
I open my eyes. I get to my feet. I feel the renewed strength flow back into me, benign and quiet.
I am different.
Now I am free.
I start running again.
This time following the trail of the one who broke the curse.
© Copyright 2016 Laila Alexander. All rights reserved.
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