I swear, I was just standing in my kitchen, washing dishes and minding my own business when this one popped up. Written for the Drabble Dabble and No Names Challenges. 100 words. It's not Tolstoy.
Usual disclaimers still apply.
They were always with him, reminders of his past sins. The lives he had taken, or helped to take, over the years. The ones he'd killed under orders, the ones he'd eliminated by necessity, and even the one he had assassinated by choice. As time passed, and his dark hair turned to silver, he had amassed a body count that often worried him, and in his darkest moments, terrified him. When the judgment day trumpet sounded, when the day came where he knew he'd have to pay the piper, they would all be there to collect.
His own personal demons.