If it were up to me, we'd leave the human species be, let them run their course in life and die however the world intended them to. But we're assured far too often that this would throw them into absolute chaos, a world where their current ideas of death no longer exist. What would that be like? A world without death, without diseases or disasters or murders? How would they die, if not by our own hands?
I've heard theories that they would become immortal, like us, living on forever in their old, weak forms until the end of time. Some others think that this is impossible, humans reaching a state of immortality reserved only for people like gods. They theorize that the laws of the universe simply would not allow it, that some way; somehow, humans would still die. I do not know what to think about what would happen to them, so I do not ponder the thought.
Let the others live on with their hope that maybe one day we can lay down our weapons, and pass on to another plane of existence and some other life elsewhere. I will not cling to such a far-sighted hope. Instead, I will live with my remorse, my pain, the pain of a thousand thousand eyes staring back in to mine.
Just yesterday it was a little girl. A little girl with long blonde hair and eyes of the sea, with skin so pale like the radiance of the moon. She was so young. It's always the young ones that break your heart. The old ones too, but especially the young. Because the young are the only ones who haven't lived enough to see the evil in the world, who haven't committed any crimes or injustices to another. It's taking the lives of the evil that give us hope. But it's the young ones who break us.
This little girl, she is walking to the library with her friends. A little boy and a little girl are with her, one of their mothers walking a few steps behind them, hovering protectively over them. None of them knew what was about to happen. But of course, I knew. And that was enough. I remember it is a bright autumn evening, a rainbow of leaves painting the trees like the colors of a sunset. There is so much peace.
I hear myself sigh, the same sigh that the wind makes as it rustles through the trees. The staff feels colder than usual beneath my hand, which I remember thinking is funny because I wasn't supposed to be able to feel anything here. No. No feeling, no speaking, just seeing and being.
I bring the staff to the ground, and there was a small ting as it makes connection with the concrete.
-the first, to stop time-
I can see what she is seeing, her world suddenly awash in a dull, muted gray like those old time movies. Everything around her is suddenly frozen. There is no wind. There is no sound. There is no movement. She reacts as expected, she is afraid, she is confused. She is clinging on to her friends and trying to get them to move, or to notice her or do anything but stand there, frozen with the excited grins.
It is about this time that she notices me. Again, her reaction is as expected. More fear. More confusion. She starts asking me questions in the language of the humans. Which one I do not know, in time all the sounds blend together into one, human-like noise. I do not answer her question; I do not even try to open my mouth. No feeling, no speaking. And one more that they don't mention. No mercy.
Again, I bring the staff to the ground, and there is another small ting.
-the second, to stop escape-
She is struggling, trying to twist or writhe her way out of whatever is keeping her from moving. I know she is no longer thinking about her confusion, right now she is only thinking of her own fear. Her fear is motivating her actions, the horribly afraid noises escaping her mouth.
Her eyes get wide when I approach her.
I cannot imagine what I must look like to her. Maybe she is seeing our humanoid forms that we see each other as, the form we adopted after so many interactions with humans. Maybe she is seeing our original form, the form I myself cannot recall what looked like. Whichever form it is, she is afraid of me, of what I am doing to her.
Her body twists in an unnatural way when I come close, her arms thrown back behind her and her chest jutted out towards me. I can see she is in pain, though she knows nothing of the pain that will come. But I do.
My staff clinks the ground.
-the third, to stop the heart-
I've heard some say that they think the third should be to stop the feeling, so that when they die they do not have to have their last memory be one of pain. But of course, we're told that the humans need to feel the pain, to know that they are really dying. A few more bitter of us say it is this way so they can feel the same pain we feel. But they are foolish. They do not know that no matter how much pain they suffer, it will never compare.
My hand is glowing with the soft purple light, and I know she sees it too by the way her eyes widen even more than some would have thought possible. I do not hesitate. That would only bring them more fear, and me more pain.
She cries out when my hand wraps around her heart, the most sacred and powerful part of the human body. Though humans may disagree and say that it is the brain, it is always the heart.
She screams as my hand closes around it, draining out all life through this single orb. She is so afraid. She is in so much pain. She lifts her blue, blue eyes to meet mine, begging for me to stop, for me to explain why, for her not to be afraid. When I feel the pieces of the heart like shattered glass I let go, and time resumes. Her body crumples to the ground, and everyone is screaming, screaming.
In their world her heart is still beating. In their world they will rush her to the hospital and try to save her, and beg and pray for her to be alright. But she is already gone. In their world they will describe it as a brain tumor that's been developing for months. In their world they will all cry, and mourn for her loss.
But in my world she is just another child. She is just another human. None of them see me when I leave. None of them see me when I return, still haunted by the blue, blue of her eyes.
And then, as always, I am haunted by the fourth. No one can agree on what the purpose of the fourth is. Some say it was intended for the humans. Some say it was intended for us. I do not want to know who it was intended for, so I do not ponder the thought.
-fourth, to stop the memory-
Some are convinced it was meant for the humans, so in their last moments they do not have to be faced with the memories of their past. But some say it is meant for us, so we do not have to face the memories of their last moments. I have never used the fourth, and I will not now. I do not want to forget, so I will not. Forgetting will not change what has happened, it will not change their deaths.
I will live with my memories of the thousand thousand eyes. Of the immeasurable pain caused by my own hands. The pain of the powerful and the greedy, as well as the young and the innocent. I have no choice.
It's not our job to decide who lives and who dies. We're just the executioners.
Oo0oO
A/N: Just an idea that came to me in a dream. Please review!