Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!
--sir walter scott on revenge.
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It was a bittersweet morning: the sun had dived behind the sleet of clouds; it had rained previously, conveying woe from the turning of the soul's universe.
Webs clung to branches as their hosts tampered with sensitive legs on the silky strands.
Inside, the warmth had begun to grow cold.
A mother's voice was calling out to her son; she had given him pearls soon after in that ancient castle, and shortly saying in a sing-song tone:
"Pearls before swine."
Allegorically, an enlightenment of prized flesh, pound for pound, and those lower than filth would by no means appreciate.
She had kissed both her children, giving love from the depths of her soul; she had sent sweet blessings of fortune for her offsprings, holding the effervescent pearls.
In the cool mantle of the forest, they fled; all the aristocratic family from the great house on the hill. They took refuge beyond the field of cold earth and worn wood.
The heat of the water warmed them all, gathering their energy for what would come.
A little girl bubbled with happy energy, her arms white like snow and her hair blond and silky clean.
Her brother doted as much as the mother and the father looked on with a sense of comfort.
Explosions woke them with a haunted startle; the day had turned from cold to frost.
As fires tampered along the cold covered grass, melting away and burning bridges all along the way; a child weeps like a great sorrowful burden and therein lay a sickening dread.
The tumultous sky was made of wet amethysts; a fire of blazing revenge came down in silent invisible threads; a biblical tablet that broke by a lightning's edge.
"Hannibal!"
Black souls came trampling, heavily armed with sharp teeth and grimy hands that day, after the fall.
After the cries of two children, calling for their mother to live, and yet he - the lone boy looked up to the sky and the gods had forgotten his beloved sister.
"Hannibal!"
She turned to him, in her hair surrounding an ethereal halo; her great weeping eyes, and her innocent screams were blocked out and the sky wept ice.
In the chains of his family's demise, he had sworn to her.
Plagues of woken unblissful sleep; it would not leave him be, until one by one, pound for pound: flesh by fetid flesh, the boy turned young man would hunt.
These hunters that covered their little souls that day would rue; they should have starved, and lived.
He, with eyes of vengeance and an eye for the sordid, now stalking among the living, like a soul sucking ravaged vampire: he's the one with no heart and full of soul.
His inspiration blossomed in the form of a daggered memory: his little sister a slaughtered lamb looking back in a black and white photo.
They, those starving dogs called men had taken everything but the passion for a merciless reprisal.
A tortured soul walks among the dead in present; but he had kissed his sister goodbye and remembers his promise.
A youthful man walking alone in the dark valley, with the hand of his own god raising to the highest sky - to feel, to touch - to take life for life, drain blood for blood.
The almond eyed widow kissed him before she could say goodbye; she begged for him to forgive, to stop body counts; this would lead him to his damnation.
How could he as a child forgive?
All he knows; all he can see is her. The stain of her blood in his vigilant hardened heart.
A little girl walks hand in hand, chubby cheeks filled with the same blood as he, and her soul cried out: "Hannibal!"
Save me!
Save me!
And he cried acid tears: I promise, Mischa.