Napoleonic
The Allknowing
The first thing I smelled was blood. An overpowering smell of human blood spilled all across the forest. It was driving me mad, especially now, especially today. My eyes grew darker as the pupil expanded taking over my entire eye. Not again, I thought, desperately looking for an escape from my madness. Nothing could save me now; the change was too far in.
My flesh ripped off my back, revealing freshly grown wings. As they unraveled, a single dark cloud rolled over the moon, leaving nothing but the darkness and me. I fell onto my knees; one hand clenched my heart while the other grasped a log. My muscles rippled, and then my vein popped out. The pain was so strong, I couldn't even stand up. My head flew back, and I let out a self pitying scream. The wings were full grown now, standing at 5 feet long, they would've been the most beautiful thing one would ever see, if the creature didn't blind you first.
Claws began to grow out of my hand; they were made of pure bone. The trees that hid me from the world started to shrink. Or was it me that began to grow, I couldn't tell anymore. All sense of humanity began to leave me as a murderer caressed my brain. I had become my worst nightmare. I had become an Allknowing.
The cry of a lonesome wolf aroused suspicion in the minds of the locals. The only known pack of wolfs was in the mountains, and yet this howl sounded like it was on the outskirts of town. Its cries were short and violent, it almost sounded like it was in pain. Some shuddered and kept walking, trying to get out of the chilling December night air, while others looked up at the sky, and looked as if they could see the wolf. All the while I looked out my window, and laughed. Laughed at how startled these city folk were at the sound of a wolf.
In the country, that's all you hear at night. It's just the sound of animals singing to the moon, and a million crickets chirping to one another through the overgrown grass. Sometimes I even miss the green wolf eyes that glowed in the dark. Now it seems that all the memories of the country I have left are of the wolves. I inhaled deeply letting the smell of dust fill my lungs and caress my body. Slowly I turned around, and began walking downstairs to exit my mother's house.
The walk across the room wasn't long. The only thing terrorizing about it was all the eyes of the paintings that hung on the wall watched you. I averted my eyes from the menacing faces of my ancestors, yet I could still feel the heat from their stare. They're not real, I wished I could believe my thought, but I knew no matter how hard I tried, the nightmares they gave me will never fade. I shuddered when I remembered the worse one of all.
All the memory I could regain was just two pairs of eyes watching me as I desperately tried to escape the framework of my great-grandfather's portrait. I remembered struggling against the glass, and a horrible haunting laughing would dominate all the other noises. Every time I managed to escape, the two pairs of eyes would suddenly grow arms and fingers, and grasp me so tightly that I wouldn't be able to breathe. Then, suddenly they would let me go and I would fall through dark air and land on a super sized version of some unknown relative, but was unable to see.
Then usually the mouth would open wide, and consume me whole. When my sight came back, I would be standing in an alleyway facing a light. A shadow stood in the center, and as I stared at it, it growled at me.
"Soon you will be mine," it always said. Then I would turn around and run hysterically. The monster always would chase me though, and eventually tie me down with one of its paws. After my terrifying screams, it would lift one paw up, and then…I would wake up.
A hard flat surface struck my face, that's when I noticed that I had been so distracted by my thoughts that I had run into the door. Short walk, I thought, as I anxiously turned the knob. The last thing I wanted was to be surrounded by the faces of people who acted like they cared. They only showed up not because they cared for the death of my mother, but for the money she left in her will. During the ceremony, I was greeted by people that I hadn't the faintest idea who they were. They all seemed to pat me on the back, then turn to their friends and say, "That's him."
None of it ever really got to me though, although it made me quite uncomfortable when I walk out of a room and as soon as the door closes, everything becomes loud once more. The hallway had the same design as the room, and as dreary as it as well. Everything that wasn't the floor and roof was covered in an awful shade of blue wallpaper and more portraits of dead people. I knew that if I wanted to go to my home, I would have to make my way through the crowd. My hand skidded along a hand rail as I limped down the stairs.
Once I reached the living room, everyone looked up, looked at me, then went right back to their mourning. My eyes squinted in hatred and I kept walking. Most of the crowd had already gone home; only a select few imbeciles were left, the most persistent ones, and were all in the room I so lazily trudged through. The air was as heavy as my feet, and I feared I would never make it home before I passed out.