The Sinner

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The Sinner Page 19

by K. Trap Jones


  I had given her so much.

  Her husband did not love her like I loved her,

  No one could.

  He lied to her about his love and

  I exposed his heart to prove it.

  She was as beautiful as I had envisioned from so far away.

  I ignored her fear and uncontrollable crying.

  I looked into her eyes to find what I was looking for.

  She truly had no idea who I was.

  Her lack of memory angered me

  More than her secret marriage.

  Her denial to accept me and my love

  Enraged me to where everything in the room

  Received a coating of red.

  I had two gifts in my hand.

  She was to choose only one.

  I held out the rose as a last sign of faith.

  She could have a life with me.

  We could be happy if she would only accept it.

  My blood boiled at her lack of support

  For our relationship by not taking the first gift.

  I dropped the rose on the ground and

  Prepared to offer her the second gift.

  She needed to know that it was always about her.

  Everything I did was for her.

  Every dream, every fantasy was for her.

  Every need, want and desire was for her.

  She was the reason I was alive and

  The reason why she had to die.

  She corrupted our relationship through marriage

  And the avoidance of memory.

  She would feel the pain and suffering that she had caused me.

  She would feel every heart ache and

  Every anxiety that she gifted me.

  Her mouth dropped open as she realized

  That it was time for our love to end.

  She tried to run, but the strength of my hand holding her hair

  From behind was too much for her.

  I ran my blade across her throat and

  Heard her betrayal leak from her wound.

  Her gasps for air were only more denial for our love.

  I lowered her body to the ground

  With respect as she had once loved me.

  I took a moment to kiss her warm lips

  One last time before I proceeded to carve her heart out.

  I would always cherish her heart

  As long as I lived no matter how much

  She ventured away from me.

  I had always believed that her heart was mine for the taken.

  The mood in the room was somber

  Until Asmodeus opened the door and joined me.

  I predicted nothing but shock on her face,

  Instead she greeted the situation with a smile.

  She told me I had done well.

  I was not sure how the removal

  Of the hearts out of two people was perceived as doing well,

  But I accepted her comment.

  I asked her if she knew about the secret marriage.

  She said that the marriage was no secret.

  She said I was the only one who did not know about it.

  She said my lust for my beloved

  Would not have allowed me to believe it.

  She could tell that my anger was increasing

  Towards her and she denied my feelings by informing me

  That I could not kill what was already dead.

  I wanted to try so badly,

  But her smile penetrated my mind so deep with an evil arrow

  That I actually became fearful of the unknown.

  I asked her what she was.

  She only stated that she was a demon.

  After what I had been through,

  I had no choice but to believe her.

  My anger subsided and

  I asked her in a calm voice

  About what was to occur next.

  She grabbed the handle of the door and

  Said that the encounter had to end.

  She pulled the door open as she vanished.

  In the doorway stood four palace guards

  Each with a shocked expression on their faces.

  There I was covered in blood

  Standing over two corpses

  With a dagger in one hand and a heart in the other.

  ~

  I am growing accustomed to the darkness in the cave.

  Being in here for so long with the only light

  Coming from the small candle

  Has allowed me to adapt my vision.

  I predict a negative effect

  When I am allowed to exit into the sunlight.

  Even the thought of the sun

  Makes me squint against the brightness.

  I think I am becoming friends

  With the darkness and often times

  Speak to it as if it were alive.

  The black can secure and hide any evils

  That lurk or allow them to show themselves.

  It is the true ruler of the cave.

  It allows me just enough light

  So that I may continue my task.

  It is gracious and kind to me.

  I dare not think about angering the darkness

  As I do not wish to feel its sheer power.

  I could see how the darkness

  Could be quite relentless in its actions

  If it were not a friend.

  I wish to stay on the good side of the darkness

  And do nothing to provoke it.

  I will follow its orders and meet its demands.

  I owe it at least that for listening to my worries and

  Not judging me for my actions.

  I will offer it the same in return.

  I will hear its cries and

  See it with non-judging eyes.

  For now, I will sleep

  Knowing that the darkness is my friend.

  VII

  envy

  Ore was my source of life;

  My source of business.

  I had never desired anything else except for it.

  It was my passion.

  My thirst for it was never quenched.

  Even though I would

  Receive a large quantity of it,

  I still wanted more.

  The sound of the wagon wheels

  Rotating and squeaking

  Along the path appeased me.

  Once I heard the sound,

  I would stop working and

  Watch as the wagon neared.

  I could often judge the amount of ore

  The wagon was toting

  By the different depths of tones

  That the wooden wheels would emit.

  A low grinding noise reflected

  That the wagon was empty

  While a high pitched sound

  Meant the load was full.

  Obviously, a high sound

  Of an approaching wagon delighted me.

  More ore meant more opportunities

  And larger products.

  Most blacksmiths opted for certain

  Types of ore and sought it out.

  While others craved other ores

  Such as copper or bronze,

  I focused mainly on iron.

  I always felt at ease with the ore and

  Harnessing its strength.

  I was a master of iron.

  The weapons and armor

  I produced was evident of that.

  I never ventured away from weaponry

  Even when the popularity of

  Precious metals was introduced.

  An abundance of trinkets

  Infiltrated society at a rapid pace.

  To keep up with the demand,

  Most turned to creating relics.

  I tried my hand at the new market,

  But constantly found myself back at weaponry.

  I found no power and strength

  In goblets and plates.

  The output was unsatisfactory f
or me,

  Especially since most of the precious metal

  Creations were for monetary gain.

  Holding a well-made goblet

  Was not the same as holding

  A well-made sword.

  No one personalized with trinkets

  Except when they would increase

  Their personal standing within society.

  When someone held a sword for the first time,

  You could see the empowerment

  Within their eyes as their face

  Reflected off of the blade.

  A well-built sword tested a man’s will and strength.

  The weight of the metal,

  Length of the blade

  Had to be right and built

  To match the persona of the owner.

  That was not the case with trinkets.

  Anyone could randomly use them,

  But not weaponry.

  I believed a single sword

  Was constructed for a single person.

  A single shield was constructed

  To protect only one person.

  To watch someone bond

  With such a weapon was satisfying to me.

  I had seen it so many times in the past.

  That moment of transfer released ownership

  Of the weapon from creator to owner.

  It was my gift; my talent to the world.

  The iron ore that I worked with

  Came from a nearby mountain range.

  Each blacksmith employed strikers

  For many reasons including holding the metal

  While the blacksmith strikes it,

  But the main reason was to retrieve

  The ore from the mountain.

  Some of the more wealthy blacksmiths

  Like those who created trinkets

  Were able to employ more strikers.

  I did not have internal strikers

  To help me forge the metal.

  I was able to handle the process on my own.

  I had only one striker

  Who retrieved the ore from the mountain

  And delivered it to me.

  His workmanship was not the best,

  But it was difficult to fill the role

  Since the task was an undesirable one.

  The mountain was separated into zones

  Equally owned by all the blacksmiths within the region.

  Each zone had an entrance point into the mountain

  Where the striker would venture into the mine

  To retrieve the ore.

  It was common knowledge

  That the strikers would stay only within their designated mine

  And not creep into others as ore thievery

  Was not looked well upon.

  The process worked and

  I was fortunate enough to lay claim

  To a portion of the mountain

  With an abundance amount of ore.

  Others were not so lucky

  As once you lay claim to a section,

  You own that area regardless of whether

  You can generate ore from it or not.

  To avoid confusion, the mines were clearly marked

  On the outside and throughout the inside

  With flags and banners representing the blacksmith.

  There was no reason why a striker

  Would mistakenly venture into another blacksmith’s mine

  Other than to steal ore.

  The mountain range supplied

  Plenty of the resource for everyone who needed it,

  So the concept of theft

  Proved to not be an issue.

  However, the quality of the ore was another factor.

  The highest quality of ore was the key to success.

  The higher quality of the ore in its rawest form

  Carried over to the higher quality of the end product

  Thus making the output more desirable.

  The strikers were not trained

  In the art of deciphering

  Between low and high quality ore.

  That task was only for the most skillful blacksmith,

  Plus the fact that the ore was caked with dirt and mud

  When the striker was in possession of it.

  It was not until the cleansing process

  That the ore could be rated by quality.

  For this purpose, the strikers mined all ore

  Regardless of what they believed the quality to be.

  It was possible that a delivery wagon

  Would only consist of low quality ore

  While others were overfilled with high quality.

  One never knew until the ore was released from its dirt prison.

  Part of the excitement was uncovering the high quality and

  Pondering the levels that I would receive each delivery.

  Along with iron, I also instructed

  My striker to collect and mine any findings of coal.

  The mountain range was also famous for its coal output.

  That was a common practice with most blacksmiths

  As the infusion of coal into the products

  Benefited them greatly.

  I personally would forge the coal with iron to produce steel,

  Which I would use in my weaponry designs.

  The amount of coal was sufficient in the region and

  Allowed me to create a wide variety of products with steel.

  The process of forging and

  Smelting the ore was a tedious one.

  Only a blacksmith with high tolerance

  For heat and strength could handle the daily process.

  I for one welcomed the heat and

  Enjoyed the strength and endurance

  That my occupation provided me.

  The challenge to bend and shape

  Some of the most hardened natural materials

  Into usable weapons was a desire of mine.

  The role of a striker was an unusual one.

  It was not an occupation for the light hearted.

  They did a maximum amount of work for minimal pay.

  It was hard labor and undesirable long working days.

  Rarely did strikers have families

  As they would venture into the mines

  And not resurface for several days at a time.

  Armed with only a pick axe and shovel,

  They would spend most of their lives

  Surrounded by darkness with the only task of acquiring ore.

  Several days of work would reveal

  A wagon full of ore that would be unloaded at a workshop.

  The striker’s role allowed for the blacksmith

  To focus on the construction of the products

  As it would be impossible to both mine and create.

  The task of mining required too much time.

  Most strikers were treated well,

  But the egos of a few blacksmiths were known

  To apply hardships on anyone that worked for them.

  As for me, I tried to give honorable pay for honorable work.

  When business was good and I was able to pay more, I would.

  When high quality was received; high pay would be given.

  I was fortunate due to my tenure in the region,

  To have laid claim to several

  Prime zones on the mountain

  With high output and quality.

  That was no more evident than in the products I unveiled.

  My swords, shields, axes, maces and daggers

  Were high quality artifacts

  That had been tested in battle and held by kings.

  I did not produce the same product twice as

  I believed that each weapon should stand alone;

  That led to its worth.

  To own something that had no comparison

  Was a respect that I offered my customers.

  Warriors and battle masters from across the land

  Beckon
ed my services and I was not hard to locate.

  Depending on the item, I liked to meet the owner

  To judge their weight and strength.

  A heavy shield for a light-weighted warrior

  Would not help him in battle.

  Same for weapons, as a long blade

  For a shorter fighter would prove useless.

  For that reason, I needed to meet the owner

  To properly craft the item for its full potential.

  My customers ranged from the mightiest of barbarians

  To the smallest of princes.

  Each weapon was built for only one person.

  I could not guarantee the same results

  For anyone using the weaponry

  That it was not originally designed for.

  A few days had gone by and

  I did not hear the familiar sound

  Of the squeaking wheels of the delivery wagon.

  A new delivery of fresh ore was something that I never missed.

  Finding that high quality ore

  Buried deep in a case of dirt was something

  I looked forward to when delivery day approached.

  It was getting late of the fourth day

  Without an approaching wagon.

  Usually, I received my ore on the third day

  After my striker left for the mountain.

  Being a day behind was rare, but not too unusual,

  So I closed down the fire pit and retired for the night.

  I began work the next day as I usually did,

  But the level of my current ore

  Would not allow me to make it through the day.

  I had never had that long of a pause

  In the process before.

  I was beginning to worry about the welfare of my striker as

  I had not seen him in four days.

  I quickly finished up a current project

  I had been working on and prior to beginning another one,

  I decided to travel to the mine and inquire about his status.

  With a sword attached to my back

  To aide in my protection from natural predators,

 

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