This is short for a reason, darlings. I wanted to continue from the last line, but it seemed so final. So I ended it there. Also, I was listening to the song "Space Dementia" by Muse on repeat (not a good idea) and that's where the creepy nature and title come from.
Warning(s): Gore, general creepiness
I don't own ATLA.
The brilliant orange flames dance in his palm, shedding light on patchy grass. His fresh kill drips with blood, staining the surrounding earth a chalky maroon.
He smiles in satisfaction. Just another runaway. Another successful end.
The thin scarlet line on her throat is the only thing that alludes to her end. Pretty green eyes stare unseeingly into the bright stars. Long brown hair fans out on the ground, strands sticking to her sweaty neck.
Prison shouldn't be so…escapable. But it makes his job more fun, so everyone wins.
The Fire Nation always wins.
He finds more tracks and grins wickedly. More people to find. More people to bleed out. More people to watch in beg to the last breath for mercy.
He scoffs at them. Mercy isn't his to give.
But then memories flood him like a hurricane; a warm hand brushing his forehead, the taste of Fire Flakes, the smell of baking bread. Memories that are no longer his.
He pushes them away before they can pull him under.
He wipes the blood off his knife and continues to hunt.