And Then, There Were None.

“The Lord giveth…”, the words, they were not right. They were lies. Lies, and yet Roland had repeated them over and over, for all of his life -he knew them by heart, they were his shield. The corpse of a young woman, the miller’s daughter, was still warm, his blade had pierced her flesh as easy as when he tore his bread when he broke fast each morning. She looked so small, crumpled there on the earthen floor of the hut, eyes closed. A red stain spread under her body, soiling her simple cotton dress. Roland’s tongue felt heavy, thick, with the Devil’s nonsense. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Roland slowly staggered towards the door, like a man heavy in his cups. Fresh air.

“The Lord also taketh away. Over and over and over. What a capricious fellow, wouldn’t you agree, Roland?” It was the smallest of whispers, probably one that no one would have heard, and yet each word reached the knight’s ears clearly.

Roland stopped, feeling the air escape his lungs. A taste of copper on his mouth made him realized he was biting his lip rather vigorously. The knight took a step forward, as if unsure if the ground could hold his weight.

“Ah, ah…one should take the time to admire their handiwork. Gives us pause for…reflection.” The whisper tittered.

He had killed her, and now regret showed its head all too late. “Forgive me, Father.” A sob shook Roland. The sword leaned dangerously forward, trying to hold on to his master’s weight. From the corner of his eye, barely at the edge of his vision, he saw someone…tall, dressed in red, smiling. He could not tell if they were man or woman. The knight had faced death countless times in his life. A soldier of God, he was used to it, but this…”Get behind me, Satan!” With a growl, Roland straightened up, holding his sword in both hands.

More tittering. The hut started to feel cold, as if the snows of early Autumn were just falling out on the countryside, draping everything in white. “Brave knight, gallant knight. Serving God and country; no sin is too big for thee.”

With a roar, Roland swung his sword around, slashing at air, only to find himself staring at the young woman’s corpse looking back at him from the floor. Where did they go? Was he losing his mind?

“Just your soul.” The whisper breathed softly on the nape of Roland’s neck, a chill pierced it. Then darkness.

A Short, Bloody Affair

A hundred Yakuza surround her, a hundred gun barrels and swords point in her direction. Death’s finger on every last one of these sons of bitches. She is tired and bloodied. A score of their own lie dead or dying all around them. A chorus of moans to carry them into Hell thickens the air. They can tell the Devil she’ll get there on her own sweet time. A sword, barely held by her slender fingers, is dipped in red. Her own gun ran empty ten corpses ago. “A man dies, the World mourns all over. A woman dies…and she dies alone.” A sigh dances over her lips and stretches into a grin. “The World can burn and grieve a hundred times more then.” Raising her sword, she prepares to dance one more time.

War is Peace

It fell, it fell. From the sky came the great scream. Rage. It brought it in spades.
 
Voludro saw the clouds split asunder by the hand of uncaring gods. The atom splitter would soon kill them all.
 
“This is the way we die, neh?” Sharalla wasn’t bitter, for once. Her eyes were pools of melancholia. Voludro could see the parting skies reflected in them.
 
“No.” Only seconds before the end. “This is the way peace is made.”
 
He smiled, a final gift to her.

Mementos from Sufrida Street: Love is a Four Letter Word

“Love makes the World go round, baby!”
 
His smile was like liquorice in my head. I hated liquorice.
 
“Love’s also a bitch.”
 
The trigger offered no resistance when I pulled it. A gunpowder orgasm mixed a a cocktail of noise and lighting that filled the room. Grey and red painted a Pollock on the far brick wall.
 
One second my revulsion made man, the next, a crumpled dead thing on the floor. His face looked better now. The neon buzzing outside the room’s window drilled my head after the ringing in my ears stopped.
 
Saturday evening and nowhere to go. Love kills, baby.

Brief Destiny

Obornusk walks in a straight line. Not looking back nor to the sides. He only sees the backside of another like him, also walking in a straight line. At the far distance there is a glow and an endless roaring. He continues to walk like all the rest. That is his purpose.
 
Mastraton watches from his dome at the worms below. They shuffle towards the slaughter in perfect complacency. How he detests them for their meek and insignificant nature. Still, they are necessary fuel for civilization’s motor. The drink on his hand is more sweet today than yesterday.
 
Vastrashla knows the truth. She will set them all free, and those above will crumble and fall. Power to those below. The spark begins now, and its fire will cleanse the world. A smile is how the revolution starts today.
 
A rogue comet impacts the planet at 0645, reducing the planet to cosmic dust. The Universe continues to expand.

Ice and Iron

 
In a land of endless frost, a man stands tall above dead fields of white. His eyes wash over the emptiness, seeking for something, or someone. He wears an iron dressm like a fallen flower whose petals are cast down, his features seemed to have been chiseled with still hands. No emotion betrays his face. Eyes brown as dead leaves seek with purpose until they spot what they seek.
 
The distant white horizon holds a black minuscule spot, then two, then three, then it becomes a line, and it expands and grows. They come. Relentless, thirsty for blood, hungry for war. Without breaking his stance, the man in iron places two fingers inside his mouth and blows. A high pitched whistle echoes across the dead ice fields. Nothing happens. The black line takes the shape of black figures, clad in darkness and spikes, thousands of them. He hears the distant rumbling of their footsteps, but there is no fear on his eyes, only the look of one who waits.
 
Ice cracks next to him and a figure clad in white burst forth. They wear scales that shine bright under the pale Sun’s light, like a peacock’s tucked tail. More cracking of ice, more figures in white burst out. Soon, the man in iron is surrounded by an army in white. The faintest of smiles draws on the left corner of his mouth. Today is a good day for war.