PLAYING GOD
summary: What is more monstrous than the man who picks who lives and who dies? Edward's rebellious first night, and his return.
a/n: This is months old so I'm not keen on any updates soon.
MAN FOUND DEAD, HOOKED BY HOOKERS
What kind of excuse is it, to kill one man -
His mind is meticulous, no detail of a man's life far from his grasp. His eyes still see in this second life, and much more clearer. The black-within-black color shines with savagery rather than insight, like the leery green eyes he once possessed.
The clock bells begin to ring, and the instinct howls again. Night is growing thickly, and the boy is eager to strike.
The boy circles his target like a hawk circles his prey. His alien all-black eyes are only ever focused on the dark shadow figure. The boy sniffs a certain danger around the man (though in the boy's own self-righteousness, he acknowledges how 'man' is only an identifier - a label) seemingly telling a soul from its smell. The boy's mind rattles with monologue that does not belong beside his own.
"Women, such whores - liberated are they, with the war?" The man laughs inwardly, hit by bitterness only a life time of rejection could bring him. He cackles with madness now, and loudly. "Four of them so far - you've really outdone yourself, mister."
The boy sneers at the man's thoughts, his own trains of thought scrambling to find words to describe the instinct in him is pounding against his head now; the drum of inhuman thirst resonates through the boy's lank body. He follows the man more, a street of downtrodden hookers their final destination.
"Hook 'em, like Jack - plan to cut her open, rip out the womb and make her choke on it - a thing where life begins will end it," The boy curses his own abilities; sickening thoughts of torture unravel as the boy forces himself to listen.
He shakes his head in roaring defiance of instinct. The halting monologue floods the boy's thoughts and the harder it becomes for the boy to think. There is nothing in the man's scent to spill his blood over, but the boy's 'enlightened' hearing uncovers much more than what lies on the surface. The boy cannot hesitate to lunge any longer, and he rocks on his heels.
But the boy still shudders. His actions are simple. His decision is hard.
The boy decides, and he lunges. The whoredom before them sees nothing, but everything they do hear. They turn the other way - what is another whore's death to them but more revenue?
The boy is sinking, as are his teeth. The man's skin breaks as the boy's jaw hinges in place. The boy sneers, but not at the man's thoughts - there's not enough sense in him anymore. There is nothing on the boy's mind but glory found in blood.
There is a shredding sound, faint grinding of teeth as the boy works his way into the man's fat neck. Tendons rip, a bone crumbling under inhuman pressure. The man is choking, gurgling as blood fills his lungs and drowns him from the inside out.
In the light of the streets the boy looks just as he does - handsome and brooding. In the fading light of the man's fearful eyes he is a monster from hell, flames in his rusty hair and sharp pointy teeth. In the lights of the boy's crimson eyes he looks half a stranger.
The boy comes to what little he had left of sense, and the man's body is a muffled thud upon cold ground. He makes a final rattle - a sharp, single last resort. A pungent release of bowels follows, te smell less than sweet. The alley is a poor shelter from the moon's light, and the shadows quickly become the devil's mirror.
The boy, however, sees his own redemption.
- because he has killed four others?