Mugen

Written with no true purpose, during my Modern World History class...

305 Words
I'm trembling.

I can feel the excitement make me grin, and my body is quivering like I'm stuck out in snow but I'm not. It's hot, and I can barely stand it. But here I am.

After taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes. My hand gripped, the handle of the sword is like jelly melting to fit into my hand. There is a sliver gleam and my eyes snap back open. In a sudden flash of yellowish-white, I bore my sharp teeth.

I'm a wild man animal, a dog, a mongrel. No more than a mutt tossed out in the rain for being bad. I'm always bad anyway, so I deserve it. What does it matter? Right then, I couldn't think of a single good thing that I've done and I think it made my eyes a little meaner.

I don't think I cared when I charged forward, letting the tip of my sword drag in the dirt. I didn't care as my feet hit the ground with rough steps, and sharp clacks of metal. I really didn't care when I felt the sharp edge dig into his skin, slide through as easily as if through butter.

In fact, I think I enjoyed it.

There was a gasp from him, a gross sound as he collapsed with his ugly, sinewy face cleanly sliced in half. I watched him fall, kneeling down to inspect the eyeball lolling out, half of it on one side. The soft-melted-looking white turned red as the blood fell.

Satisfied, I stood back up. My maniacal grin returned as I stared at the rest of them. They were all frozen, staring at the small pile of bodies already formed around my feet. I knew how much I was smiling as I watched them squirm.

"Okay," I said quietly, "Who's next?"

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