On a cold October night silence reigned. A scream echoed. A being ran like the Hounds of Hell were after them. The scream woke the dead, literally. The banshee scream rose the dead to let them feast. May the Gods have mercy upon the living. For the end was here…
I fell & prayed to whoever would listen. Prayed my want of justice wouldn’t turn to vengeance. My world shattered. Anger overriding my grief. I picked up the damned knife. I found the person who murdered my soul. I lost my battle for justice. But I got my vengeance.
Within my blood, a war rages. Ancestors killing ancestors. Actions they took, for the right reasons. A whole lot blood sins. My blood haunted by the bad. Tempered by the good. Paying for sins not mine. Benefiting from actions not mine. Within my blood, a war rages.
Walking by a cemetery one night I hear a cat meow. I bit my lip, it was a cold, foggy, October night. But the meows of a hurt cat echoed in the air. I follow them through the headstones. I stop when the meowing does. In front of me a marble monument… With my name.
Mayhem, Death, & Destruction. What do you expect? I leave a trail of bodies. Choosing my victims like fine wines. I invite some friends along. It is a Devil’s Hour Smash. Blood & Death we revel in. Mayhem, Death, & Destruction; That is the way of my undead life.
My blade is as sharp as a diamond as it slices through sternum of the cadaver. I open the ribs & pull out the heart. My mouth waters. Fresh may be best. Fresh also gets a silver bullet through MY chest. I get my hearts. I live my life. The Werewolf of Strife.
I place the flower upon the grave. A tear ran down my cheek. It was the only break in this mask. My heart was destroyed. My soul was darkened. I lost my lifeline. I lost my soulmate. It was ironic the sun was shining bright. When I lost you on a cold & rainy night.
I watched the lifeless body burn. There was a satisfaction to the sight. I had been trained for this. To be a warrior. I never felt the knife enter the base of my skull. Murdered by the woman I left for dead. I was looking St. Peter in the eye before I knew I was dead.
Ever wish you could go back? Back in time? Back home? Just back? Back to to simpler times? Back to that shock of first love? We all wish. We all want something from the past. But if we stay in the night of the past, if we ignore the daylight our present, we never make it to the dawn of the future.
They tell their stories. Someone stops & listens they light up. How lonely they must be. A lifetime of stories. Lost on the young minds they tell. A lifetime of hopes, dreams, loves, & loss. Stories that make their life; told to strangers. How lonely they must be.