He piled the bodies in the middle of the village, while all around him the houses burned. He had kept a careful count in his head. One thousand, two hundred and twenty seven so far. He was missing three.
He stood in the center of the village, his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Blood, gore, ash, and flame filled his nose. But there was something else. Sweat, the stench of fear. He opened his dark crimson eyes, turning them to the direction of the smell. He ran swifter than the eye could follow. He jumped up onto the rooftops.
When he reached the right house he skidded to a halt, turning and plunging his fist into the roof. He ripped though the roof tiles as if they were pieces of paper. The roof crumbled under him and he shot down to the floor below. The second floor was deserted. He tore through the wooden floor easily, dropping down to the first floor.
A small, elderly man carrying a firearm met him there. He opened fire as soon as he saw the dark-skinned monster. The bullets hit dead center in the chest, but the monster took no heed of it. He flexed his arms and his fingers turned into deadly black claws.
The man emptied his entire clip into the monster, but it was no use. The demon bared his fangs at him in the darkness. "You do not run. It is wise of you to accept your fate as a traitor."
The old man gazed at him fiercely. "I am no traitor. I only wish to protect them."
"Do not worry." The demon hissed. "You will see them again in hell." Then he attacked.
He walked down the hall slowly, blood dripping from his claws and splattering on the floor. He could smell two more, but where...
He stopped in front of a small closet door. He heard a whimper from the other side and grinned. He punched through the door, dragging out the little ones. They were dead before they could scream.
The fire had reached this house now, too. He exited through the front door, carrying the three bodies. He dumped them with the others. He stood there for a long time, his eyes closed, taking in the scents around him. No one was left alive.
He opened his eyes again and walked out of the village while it crumbled to ash behind him.
*** "Are they dead?" She asked him worriedly.
"Yes." He told her. He knelt before her throne. He was still without his cloak. His hands were normal now, but still bloodstained. "I killed each one of those traitorous worms, just for you." He smiled at the thought.
She smiled gratefully down at him. She was so fragile, and so beautiful. Her paper white skin and her large blue eyes only enhanced her delicate appearance. He rose to his feet as she stood. She walked up to him, placing her pristine hands on his face. "What would I do without you?" She asked him wonderingly.
"You'll never have to find out." He reassured her. He wrapped his large hands around her slim waist, pulling her gently against him. He felt his entire body reacting to her, bending to her will. There was no ecstasy greater. "I will be with you until I die."
"Just hearing that makes me so happy." She told him. He felt her love wash over him, setting his skin aflame. In return, his own heart poured out his own ceaseless love. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to hers.
He kissed her hungrily, holding her small body against his tightly. He pulled her down to the floor and took her there, over and over, until her entire body shook as she cried out, clutching him desperately.
*** He looked down at the young woman. She lay bleeding before him. She did not beg for mercy like the other villagers had. She looked up at him as firmly as she could. “Kill the baby, too.” She whispered, tears running down her face.
He turned, glancing at the crib, at the bawling bundle inside. He looked back down at the woman. “You would ask me to kill your son?”
“No, I beg you to. He'll starve without me.” The woman gasped, blood ran from her mouth. “You've killed everyone else. There is no one left to care for him. I don't want him to suffer. Please, kill him too...”
As he stared down at this dying mother, a strange feeling was stirring inside of him. What was this painful feeling in his chest? He watched until the mother laid still, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Then, he turned back to the crib.
He stared down at the baby; that aching feeling was growing stronger. He pulled back his claws, hesitating for the first time in his life. He shut his eyes as he thrust his hand into the crib, silencing those high-pitched cries. A single tear ran down his cheek.
*** He looked down at his hands. They were wicked black claws, stained with bright red blood. Underneath the fresh blood was blood that had barely dried and underneath that there was dried blood, then old blood. Layers and layers of killing coated his skin.
How had this happened to him? What was the turning point in his life that changed him from protector... to murderer?
He couldn't take it any more. But he could not stop. Those memories... Killing, maiming, murdering. Man, woman... child. They would not release him. His heart ached with remembering.
He had killed at one time, for sustenance. This was different though. This was killing just to kill, hurting just to see the pain. When was it that he had acquired this insatiable blood lust?
No more, he could not be a puppet any longer. But he had no choice, his heart, the same heart that tortured him so, would not let him disobey the one he loved.
The one he loved... His heart swelled at the thought of her. His only desire was to please her, in any way she wanted from him, in any shape or form. He looked up at her.
She had changed too, over the years. Her love was frozen. Where was her warmth? What had happened to that gentleness?
His eyes were locked immovably on hers. "What will you do then?" She asked him, her cold voice sounded hurt; pitiful. His heart pounded in his chest just looking at her. The thought that she might be hurt because of him, might be displeased in him, made him feel as if he was being torn in two. Was it because of him, that she had become so cold?
But... what could he do? He couldn't change her back to the way she was. His own pain was too great.
The only way he could stop the killing, stop the memories, stop the nightmares... was to stop loving her. And he could never willingly stop loving her.
"Whatever I must." He answered her. His eyes filled with tears. He felt them slide slowly down his cheeks.
He wanted to close his eyes, but he could not look away from hers. He reached up with his hands slowly. His clawed fingers flexed; eager for more blood. He hesitated.
But, his arms held none of the love that was in his heart. They held only the desire for destruction. It was easier to guide them than look away from the one he loved.
He continued staring at her, drawing his hands up. He saw her eyes widen as his claws sank swiftly into his chest.
His eyes did not move from hers as his claws tore through his skin. One fist broke through his ribcage. Those awful black claws wrapped around his heart.
There was pain beyond measure; ceaseless, unending agony. But he did not look away. She screamed his name, damning and cursing him even as her own tears rolled down her cheeks. He could feel his heart beating in his hand. He drew a deep breath, and ripped it from his chest.
The pain did not end. It filled his entire body, but now he did not care about it. He did not care about anything. He held his heart at his side, black blood dripped from it and splattered on the floor. Still it beat, pouring out its endless love.
But he no longer had a use for it.
He tossed it at her feet. "I gave this to you a long time ago, at the expense of my own freedom. It does not belong in my chest." He said dully.
Then he finally closed his eyes, spiraling into darkness.
Chapter I – The Junkyard Claire sat on top of the junk heap. It rose at least fifty feet. Heights didn't bother her though, she was used to them. She rummaged listlessly through the scraps piled up under her feet.
She poked through old and broken appliances with a long slender pipe she had found in another pile.
She wasn't looking for anything
in particular. In fact, she didn't feel like looking for anything at all. But this was what she and Mommy and Daddy had done day after day to survive. And even though her parents were gone now, she still needed to survive.
But, she didn't feel like surviving anymore.
She was small, young, little. She had no one and nothing. She was helpless now that she was alone. Why was she even still here, surviving, while her parents were gone? Why was she here, and they weren't?
She frowned deeply. "I hate this." She said petulantly.
There were others roving the junk pile. Destitutes like her. She didn't even know what destitute meant really, but she guessed it was people who have to loot junk piles for a living.
A loud 'CAW CAW' from behind startled her. She fell from her perch, rolling headlong partway down the junk heap. She fetched up against the side of a rusted out washing machine. Her shoulder was bruised. She rubbed it fitfully while glaring at the carrion crow, for that was what had surprised her. But it took no notice of her, flying overhead and away, towards the far end of the dump site.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears of pain that came so easily. She rubbed the back of a small, dirty hand across her face and sniffled. She was thoroughly fed up with everything now. She stood up and kicked at the washing machine. Even though it was rusted through, it stood up well against her tiny bandaged feet, making her wince as pain shot through her toes.
"Grrrngyah!" She screamed at it incoherently. But, it was just a piece of junk; it didn't matter if she yelled at it or not. She stalked off, down the junk heap to the ground. Piles and piles of rubbish, junk, and waste rose up all around her. She took no notice of it, it was her home.
She hated it. The junk piles, surviving, carrion crows, everything! Maybe next time the carriers flew by to dump fresh garbage on the piles she would stand right on the ground, wide open.
The carriers didn't like people being in the junk piles. The others always hid. Mommy and Daddy had always hid her in a little hut made from scrap metal when they flew overhead, their searchlights inspecting the area. Everyone always stayed absolutely still. The carriers didn't have time to look carefully, so if you didn't move, they wouldn't spot you. If they spotted you, you were shot until you stopped moving.
Maybe she should let the carriers shoot her, and then she could be gone as well, like Mommy and Daddy. Anything that had made it bearable down here was gone now. She sulked a bit more, glaring at the sky. She was daring a carrier to come by, even though it was daytime.
But she saw no carriers, just another carrion crow, flying overhead. It was soon joined by another. They were heading in the same direction, off to the edge of the dump site. They were followed by three more.
Claire frowned. She had never seen carrion crows act like this before. They usually just flew aimlessly overhead. She thought that they were looking for something. Maybe they had found it. She wondered what it was.
She had always been incredibly curious. Anything that was strange or new caught her eye. But, in the junk yard, there wasn't much that was interesting. Until now, that is.
It was pretty far to the edge of the dump site, so she ran. She squinted into the sky ahead and saw a small, black feathery cloud gathering in the distance. When she got close she stopped running. She bent over, hands on her knees, and wheezed for a bit. She wasn't used to running that far, and her legs were tiny and thin. She stayed still and puffed for a bit.
By this time the black cloud of carrion crows was drawing attention from the others. They looked up from their digging and sorting, some with dismay on their faces, others with interest.
One old man, who had seen the crows gather many times in his lifetime, just shook his head sadly. "Seems the upper class still uses its garbage dump for people as well as trash. I guess people lose their usefulness eventually too." And he went back to his work.
"People?" Claire asked; her eyes on the crows. She watched as they descended on a small trash heap. Was there really a person in there?
She stepped slowly forward. The carrion crows made an awful racket, cawing and fluttering their dirty black wings. Sticking out of the trash pile she could just make out a pair of heavy black boots, fastened with three wide leather straps and thick metal buckles.
"Just another dead body." Someone muttered behind her.
"Shouldn't we bury them?" Claire asked, without looking up to see who was behind her. She really wasn't supposed to be talking to anyone; her parents had warned her about that. She kept her attention on the carrion crows.
"Too late." The same person said. "Crows already got 'im."
Whenever someone died in the junkyard they were immediately buried. Because of the carrion crows, they had said. They didn't want to feed them. Sometimes, someone would be hungry enough to try to eat one of the bodies. But if they did, they died the next day.
As she looked at that gaggle of crows, pecking and cawing and ruffling their feathers a strange feeling welled up inside of her. It isn't right, that when someone dies they are torn up and eaten. When someone was gone, they never came back. They only left their body behind for their loved ones.
She gripped her long thin pipe tightly in her hand. Did the body here used to belong to someone who was loved? Would someone care if it was eaten up? Probably not, since it was thrown into the trash. No one cared about it.
Except for Claire; she couldn't help but care. The thought of a person without anyone to care for them, someone else like her, made a wellspring of emotion bubble up inside of her. Someone just like her; someone who had died that way. Just like how she would die.
She hefted up her pipe and ran at the crows. She flailed around, swinging the pipe as hard as she could. She hit a good many of them before they realized what was going on. No one had ever attacked them before. Very quickly their natural reflexes kicked in and they flew into the air in a great swarm.
Claire kept whipping her pipe back and forth. Her eyes were scrunched tightly closed. She hated the crows, she hated not having her parents, she hated being here.
She hated everything. This junk yard, that encompassed her entire world. Where there were people whom nobody loved, and threw them away like trash. Where there were those like her who no longer had anyone to love.
Finally the crows gave up and dispersed. She fell to her knees panting hard, tears streaming down her face. She dropped her pipe and put the backs of her hands to her eyes and sobbed.
"Why do you cry?" A voice asked her, dull as weathered stone, and empty as death.
She ignored the voice and kept on crying, until her tears dried up and her eyes and throat were sore and she just sat there hiccuping. She never wanted anyone to see her crying, not even Mommy and Daddy. Maybe this person would just go away if she ignored them. She saw then that her knees were touching a pair of legs lying in the junk pile. She realized that they belonged to the body and leaped back in fright.
She sighed in relief when she put a couple of feet distance between her and the body. "Are you better now?" The voice asked her.
"I'll be fine." She said dismissively with the wave of a hand, like Mommy had done when she wanted to be alone. She didn't bother looking for the person who was talking to her. She didn't care who they were. She wasn't supposed to talk to the people in the junk yard anyway. She folded her hands in her lap and tried her best to look haughty and uncaring while her heart rate slowed down to normal speed.
She was just thinking that they had gone, when the voice spoke again. "You scared away all the crows." It commented.
Claire said nothing. She just wanted this person to go away and leave her alone. She knew she was being childish, but she didn't want to have to deal with anyone. She was allowed to be childish, she was still a child.
"Why did you do that?"
Claire scrunched her eyes tight and gritted her teeth. She didn't know the answer to that herself. How was she supposed to tell someone else? "Look, don't you have better things to do than to ask me stupid questions?"
She was angry, and she was frustrated. She didn't know what to do any more at all.
"No." The voice answered simply.
She was too young to explain, or even understand, what she was feeling now. For days and days, emotions had been building up inside of her, and she had no way of releasing them. There had been no one to scream and yell and vent at, or to even talk to. She knew no one else in the junk yard. Her parents had stayed away from everyone else when they could, and had told her to do the same.
She was at her breaking point now, and her emotions rushed out again. "Well, just leave me alone! I don't want to talk about it!" She threw her hands up in the air.
"If that is what you wish." It was a male voice. She couldn't tell at first, because it was so blank and empty.
Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "It is." She grumbled.
Suddenly the junk pile in front of her moved. The body underneath sat up, sending scrapped bits of metal and busted personal electronics cascading down the pile. Claire was startled for the second time that day. She jumped in alarm, falling on her on her back.
The body stood up then. It wore dark colors; a long, dark brown cloak and hood, with the hood down. It was a tattered mess at the ends. The black pants were of leather and extremely worn. Wide straps snaked up both long, skinny legs and over bony hips. The cloak covered everything else.
Claire just stared, her eyes wide. The face held her gaze. She saw it in profile and could not look away. It was so different, alien… unusual. As strange as it was, it was also distinctly male. The skin was perfectly smooth, under the dirt and looked to have been carved from stone the color of soot. She took in a long thin nose and thin lips. The face was gaunt, the cheekbones showed clearly, giving him a severe look. Under the eyes the skin was drawn.
It was when the man started to walk away that she finally came to her senses. "W-wait!" She said, reaching out a hand and catching his cloak.
He turned to her, looking down at her. His eyes were tawny, and hard as marble. His expression was blank, waiting.
"You're alive!" Claire squeaked, dropping his cloak quickly.
Claire Page 2