Light
The crisp cool air sent a chill running down my spine, despite the layers of clothes I was wearing. I pulled my arms close to my body and buried my face into my scarf. Had it been this cold ten years ago?
Children laughed as they chased each other in the snow, frequently falling and sending up plumes of white powder that covered them for a moment, until they quickly jumped back up and kept running. Their parents watched from benches nearby, idly talking. Some kept a concerned eye on their kids but others were absorbed by the conversation. Loving parents, all of them. It'd been nice to have one of those. One.
To my right, the swingset sat empty. Somehow still standing after all these years. The snow piled up on the seats and stuck to the cold metal, camouflaging it nicely against the white backdrop. I'd loved that swingset when I was younger. It had been the last thing I'd wanted before...
But I'd been a good girl right? Everyone had called me an angel. Well, everyone else had.
I looked down at the swirling water below. It was calm today, partly frozen from the cold. Small ice chunks floated downstream like tiny boats. Like tiny people. I remembered the raging torrent it had been. Churning and dragging those ice chunks down below the surface. A person could freeze in that water if they weren't careful.
Everyone else had loved me. I'd always done my best to be happy. To make everyone else happy too. I was a good girl, wasn't I?
My father had taken me across this bridge. We were going to swing. We were going to be happy. But I could never make him happy. Maybe I'd made him happy ten years ago when I was trying to swim? No one swims well when they're eight though. And yet, I distinctly remembered his smile.
Had he loved me then? Probably not. Happiness and love are very different, aren't they. But I'd always tried to be a good girl. Hadn't I done well?
His grip had been colder than the snow. And I must have seemed lighter than a snowflake as he picked me up. Not even his smile had been warm. In fact, it had been the most terrifying thing I had seen in my life, just before I died. Ironic that a few days ago, I'd been the most terrifying thing he'd seen in his life. Also just before he died.
There was a scream from the kids. A girl was on the ground crying to my left, just at the foot of the bridge. Next to her lay a snowball, bits of rock sticking out at frightening angles. The boy who threw it was laughing. Laughing? At her pain? That wasn't love. That wasn't kind.
I walked over and knelt by the girl. He stopped laughing as I looked up at him.
"That wasn't very nice," I said. My eyes started glowing. He was bad.
He started yelling and screaming. His eyes turned red and then dripped away from their sockets. His body toppled to the ground, smoke rising from his hollow eyes, his brain now mush.
I made sure the girl was ok, then stood and began walking toward the swingset.
I am a good girl.
Matches
I watched as all around me, my world burned to the ground. The flames consumed all they touched, crackling and snapping like laughter. Like screams. Screams. Why did they always have to scream? Was pain really so terrible? They screamed, but the fire laughed. And so I laughed too.
These people didn't deserve life. Very few did. My brother hadn't. And so he burned. Just like they burn. Just as they all will soon burn.
I woke from the dream. Grace was still in my arms, still sleeping quietly.
I sighed and held a hand to my head. Was that dream mine? Or was it…
It had been a good dream though. I closed his eyes and imagined their faces again, twisting and writhing as they slowly turned black and transformed into something unrecognizable. Into corpses.
But I wouldn't lose control again. It'd happened too many times already, especially after Carly died. And it had only gotten worse until I killed my brother. I didn't regret it. He'd turned her into a joke. Slender was the only reason I could keep myself in check now. He'd found me then. I'd met Grace because of him. And Light. And my sister. They were the ones who could pull me out of my insanity. Only their voice could break through his. Through Zero's.
I reached for the mirror Grace kept by the bed and lit a candle on my finger to see my reflection. Bright red eyes looked back at me. Good. I was still in control.
You'd like to think that wouldn't you?
The covers felt too hot. I peeled them off and closed my eyes to sleep some more.
You like to pretend you know what you're doing now. Pretend like your friends will always be there to keep me away. Pretend they can stop me.
My brain itched, like a small flame had lit in the back of my head. I shut my eyes harder and tried to tune him out.
You can't ignore me. You can't ignore yourself. You know what you want.
I didn't want it. I wanted control. I'd never asked for this insanity and I wanted it to be gone!
The world will burn. And they will burn with it.
Yes… that's what they deserved. But I couldn't just burn everything! I couldn't hurt the people I cared about!
You can't protect those you care about. You can't protect them now, just like you couldn't protect her back then.
The fire in my mind was growing, burning my thoughts and consuming my will. Nothing I threw on it could quench it. It's hunger was greater than what I could feed it.
You couldn't protect Carly.
Something snapped. The last buckle I'd been holding onto so tightly to stay in control broke. No one said her name. No one brought her up.
But you swore her vengeance. You do not protect. You avenge.
Yes. How can you protect when evil is still out there?
You can burn. You can burn it all.
Dark red eyes flashed in the mirror.
You can burn the world.
Shade
This was beautiful. This was art! All of life is a canvas, and I am it's artist. And my, what a beautiful masterpiece I had painted. I'd left a box full of gold in the middle of the street for everyone! One by one as people walked by on their business, almost all of them would stop, hesitate, and then take one or two coins from the floating box.
Oh yes, it was floating! I had it suspended like a scale with the weight far down in a hole next to it. A very loud and annoying weight.
A man spends his entire life gathering wealth for himself. And if he happens to trample a few lives in the process, so what? If a few young boys are left without parents, what changes?
My parents had died to a wealthy man. He staged an accident and then claimed he was a relative to receive everything they had. A demolition team had blown up a building just as they happened to be walking by, and they were killed by the rubble. That had been the worst and most frightening day of my life. But the man had taught me one thing; beauty.
Snarls rose from the pit, punctuated by the occasional bark.
You see, the building was an orphanage that my parents had invested everything into, but it had gone under anyway. Beautiful that the thing that had crushed them financially and emotionally, would also be the very thing to crush them physically. I remember watching from the car in shock. I hadn't cried then, or at any point after. Because I learned another thing about beauty from that experience.
There were screams coming from the pit now. Pleas for help. A sickening crunch and the box of gold sunk a little as the weight on the other side lessened.
You see the thing about beauty, is that it's only skin deep. Underneath the skin, we're all the same aren't we? Well life really isn't so different now is it?
The man tied to the other end of the rope screamed for help from the pit. Another passerby stopped and considered, then like the many before him, decided that one gold piece couldn't hurt. He plucked it from the box, and the bound man yelped as he dropped a bit lower.
Life is really all that defines us isn't it? We prance around, loving this, hating that, pursuing our own ideas of success. And yet, when we die, all of that beauty is stripped away to reveal that on the inside, we are all hollow puppets playing this game.
It was terribly fitting that the man who had killed so many others he saw as unexceptional, was now being killed by everyone, who saw their own contribution as insubstantial. It was beautiful.
You see if all of life is a canvas, I am it's artist. And death, death is the paint I use to create my masterpiece.
