matthewnguyen

Tch.

I feel like doing something unproductive in a productive fashion. So I decided to screw myself over by trying to write some short stories from the top of my head. So far I've written two and I read them over just to remind myself about the reality I reside in. I'll post the other once I feel like complete shit again. Makes it easier for me to access this story rather than opening the word document over and over.

Mortal of Retribution
Red. Red. Crimson. Crimson. Blood. The puddle of crimson liquid was gradually increasing in size with its owner not giving a single damn. Just what you would expect from a deceased person, a recent one to be precise. With trembling fingers, the cleaver that was in my grasp slipped out and clattered onto the tiles, harmlessly. This is the cleaver which had tasted and devoured the life of the person dead at my feet. With my strength disappearing rapidly, I collapsed suddenly onto my knees, using my hands to prevent my face from being tainted by the floor and its newfound decoration. Out of curiosity, I hesitantly glanced at the dead body. Instinctively, my right hand covered my mouth, preventing whatever was going to spill. I soon realised however, that despite my efforts to keep my face spotless, the hand used to cover my mouth was dipped in the crimson puddle. It was futile, I started to convulse. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I never wanted this to happen at all. That man, he didn’t deserve that.

He deserved a crueler death. I couldn’t hold it any longer, as my laughter filled the dark room, with the growth of the puddle became stagnant. With my hand removed from my mouth, other people would probably perceive me as a stupid girl who couldn’t put on lipstick properly. I reached out towards my third arm. And my heart. My living instrument pounded ever so quickly as my hand got closer to the cleaver I treasured. Tch. Not enough. It was still hungry. Hungry for the blood of those who have wronged. I glanced at his hands once before separating them from his body. Regret filled my heart as I realised it would’ve been more fun to do this while he was still wasting his breath in this blasphemous world. These hands of his touched me. These indecent hands dared to taint my body. To taint it even though it was already ruined. I stifled a laugh as I threw the hands at the man’s face, producing a slap; it was almost comical. Did I ever do anything wrong? Yes, I admit it. The punishment that these people deserved, that he deserved, I simply didn’t do enough. There are others suffering out there. Those who have been raped, their dignity stolen and with only hate in their heart and soul. A mirror image of myself.

A jail sentence. That was what my dignity was worth. A single DAMN JAIL SENTENCE and with each word, I hacked at his body, each thunk becoming increasingly louder, each wound becoming increasingly deeper, each tear falling down harder from my bloodstained face. Not anymore. I will take upon the duty of restoring the pride of all those who have been raped. Only through satisfying my cleaver, I can finally attain purification for myself and my fellows. Slowly dressing myself, I recalled the man’s expression as he realised his own fate. Giggling, I planned how I would play victim for the next person who would dare to violate me with their hands or even eyes.