The Beauty of Killing

Blood sprays onto my face. I extend my tongue and lick it from my cheeks. The taste is sharp and good. Screams fill my ears. I bring my sword down again and again and limbs scatter and men fall dead at my feet. The sweet world of revenge worships me and I kill and savage and rip like the beast I am.

Women, children and husbands. Sons, nephews, aunts, grandmothers. Death doesn’t see the difference so I do not either. I shout with the dying and finished their dwindling days again and again. My own body is scratched and bloodied and naked in a gleaming son. The ground is wet with the dark liquid that comes from my veins.

For my woman. For my pride. For this bloodthirsty desperation that used to skulk in my soul and has now risen. For my children who were killed, I now kill children. I now kill everyone.

My heart races and my mind narrows. I see nothing but blood and the world of violence. I slash, and I murder.

And I love it.

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