A/N: This is my rewrite for a story I wrote awhile back. Hope you like it, as I've made quite a few changes (mainly the format). Tesla Cannon is copyright of Scott Westerfield.
I never thought it would come to this.
I never wanted to be a murderer.
Finding the Tesla Cannon in the basement,
It was pure chance!
I want to tell myself.
I took it out to the courtyard,
Hoping to find him.
There was my prey, along with her.
Her.
I brought my weapon to life,
In front of everyone.
The cold metal turning red hot,
Sparks coursing along it's dead, grey hide.
Then, I fired.
My lightning bringing only death,
And destruction,
To his small, globeish body.
I cackled madly,
Drunk on the alcohol of my fantasy
Finally realized.
Then I saw her coming,
Screaming "Kirby, run away!"
My eyes widening
In horror and shock,
As she took what had been meant for him.
At that moment,
I felt my plans,
Like my heart,
Crack,
Splinter,
Shatter,
Into a million razor sharp pieces,
Impossible to put back together.
She thrashed,
Immobile,
Hanging in air,
Almost like she had wings.
The whites of her eyes flashing,
Her blond hair dancing
Like an effigy
Before it burns.
Then the light faded,
And she fell,
A lifeless rag doll,
A marionette cut from her strings.
Someone ran to her,
Trying in vain desperation,
To guide
Her lost soul
Back to where it truly belonged.
So here I sit,
By her cold gravestone,
Tears pricking my irises,
Remembering her final heartbeats,
The flashing whites of her eyes,
The dancing, gilded threads of her hair
Weaving a song of death in the limpid dusk air.
I never thought it would come to this.
I never wanted to be a murderer.
Everyone hates me now,
And with good reason.
My only regret,
Is that I never got to say,
"Fumu, I'm sorry."