ONE DAY YOU'LL BEG FOR MERCY

on the edge of breaking down / of jumping to fall bloody on the ground / i spread my arms up into the sky / though i know no one's catching me before i die -- "fallen"

~*~*~*~

EPILOGUE: In the Beginning

Weeping for the blood on his hands… the stench that he could not wash even with the biting salts of the sea… he knelt on the shore as the waves slowly buried him on the beach. He released the sword from his grip and dug his fingers through the warm coarseness of the sand. How he wished to dissolve and merge with the sea, the earth, the wind… or even the slow rising sun. For living came with feeling and feeling came with the nagging conscience he was gifted with – or cursed with – for he was only an ordinary human; without any other abilities to pull out of himself in this time of complete despair. He was not like them. He was only a prisoner. He could not hone the powers of the dark like they could… but it was over now. He was free. Nobody would enslave him any longer.

He ended them. He ended them all.

They thought they had him under control… for they always pointed at him cursing and threatening the life out of him so he would do their bidding. And they thought that was enough. But the desire of man is more powerful than any enchantment. For a man desperate enough will find a way even with the use of his bare hands. And so he crept in each of their rooms and with the sharp edges of metal in his hand, he struck their hearts… before they could scream… even before they could blink. No dark power could stop the raging of his heart.

But when what was done was done, a veil lifted from his eyes and then in long agonising moments everything flashed in his mind. He was no better than them. For he killed. He ended life – no, lives. He killed a whole family because he wanted his freedom. He was never going to fear their odd behaviours any more – no more dark magic. Because they were now dead and no one can bring back the dead – not even dark magic. Only destiny and the powers paramount to these abilities they called wizarding sorcery could change anything.

Witches! But they deserve to burn! he thought, struggling with his conscience. They're evil… Sons and daughters of the Dark! Didn't I do the world a favour? Send them back to where they belong?

"But I'm no killer!" he screamed at the sea. His voice echoed through the empty silence of dawn. "There's blood on my hands and blood meant life. I'm just as dark as them. For I did to them what they had not done to me… I slay them all… like filthy animals."

He watched the sun now peeking from the horizon. Somehow, it looked like no start of day. To him, the sun looked as red as blood casting its light to an even more crimson sea. He pulled himself, picked up the sword that was now half-buried in the sand, and walked towards the sea until his knees were submerged in the water. "Who's going to save me now?" he muttered under his breath, caressing the sharp edge of the blade as if longing to dig it into his arms and his heart. "I killed… now I must do the world a favour and rid it of a sinner, a tainted soul."

He might have been no killer after all because this deed had caused his mind to lead him astray. He became insane in so short a time for his conscience had eaten him up. He did not even realise that he was now slighting his pale arms with the sharp blade. Blood was dripping in gradual crescendo towards the sea and he was feeling life draining out of him. Yet, as he fell down on his knees pleading the heavens to save him, a hand grabbed him from behind, pulled him up, and turned him around.

"You filthy Muggle low-life!"

"M-Master?" he stuttered and to his surprise, dropped the blade he clutched in his hand.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," the intruder said with much disgust. He clutched his slave's shirt and stared straight with his ferocious grey eyes. "What have you done?! What have you done to my family?!" he screamed and let go, dropping the man onto the ground.

But the man could not think any more clearly. "But you're dead…" his voice trailed, examining his Master, "…with my own hands…" his speech completely faltered when he saw blood on his Master's clothes. He then realised that when he struck…

"You missed my heart. Was that what you were aiming for?" the Master said, pulling out something from his pocket. "If you want to kill, slave, you have to do it right. Like this!" he raised his hand and pointed a wand straight to his servant's heart.

"No! No," the servant backed away hastily as the Master yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"

But maybe it was luck – or perhaps destiny – that the moment bright green lights escaped from his Master's wand, he tripped on something in the sands and fell back.

His Master missed his heart.

There within the sand under the waters he felt the smooth metal against his skin. And clutching it tightly with his fingers, he stood up.

The Master laughed incredulously. "What are you going to do?" he said as he advanced into the water towards the servant. "Stab me again? Wait until I fall asleep and then you'd come and betray me? I have nothing, Muggle. You killed my family. The only thing I have left is something I really don't detest losing –" he stopped when suddenly…

The servant – the man who was in despair of hope – as if in a trance, raised the sword with both hands with the tip pointing straight to his chest. And like someone else's voice came out of his mouth, he spoke:

"I beseech thee with my blood and my life. 'Tis my redemption – to take me away from these pains. Cleanse my soul and rid me of taint. I relinquish in your powers. Fate! Come forth and hear me! I beg you to break these shackles!"

And with one strike, he dug the blade into his heart and looked at his Master with pleading eyes. With his last remaining strength, he dragged himself towards the youngest member of the wizarding family he once served. "Witches… evil dark witches!" he muttered with anger, spitting blood onto the sea. He stared at the man before him and he watched as his grey eyes widen in astonished interest. "One day you'll beg for mercy," he said, knowing this would be his last breath. "It may not be you… but it will be a Malfoy. It will be your blood."

~~THE END~~

02 October 2006

~*~*~*~

in bits and pieces they might pick themselves up / 'tll his mind starts to listen and refuses to shut / the shouts may start into fading whispers / but spirits don't die, they will linger forever… -- "unrest"