“Parasite!”
“ Unclean!”
“Whore!”
I’ve heard worse. At least that hurl those blasphemies have culture, even
taste, though it blanched. At least they are educated. I ignore the rest of
their shouts and curses. Their petty words and phrases meant to hurt, but I see
no scar. And I feel no pain. Fools.
Though I must admit their devotion is extraordinary. Is my existence such a
threat? I pose no danger unless provoked, of course.
Which, unfortunately, happened. It wasn’t my fault. I was defending myself as
well as protecting another. A woman. She called me sister.
I was her hero. It was man. The violent, vile sort. He was hurting her. I
stopped him- permanently. He shall harm no one forevermore. They should be
eviscerating his corpse and let the rats have their way.
The talk is that my methods were unprecedented and grievous, so-called
professional grew faint at the sight. Blood is blood and does not attempt to
conceal its purpose. They said there was a frightful amount pooled where his
corpse lie. Alas, it did not run, like a wild current onto the street, into the
sewers where it belongs. But I digress.
Hunted am I, a wanderer, summoned by hunger and thirst to satiate this body’s
function. But food I cannot taste and water does not soothe me. Am I cursed? Or
is this the way of many, yet know it not.
I confess to you, dear reader. Be not harsh of judgment. Think of me as once
fallen, now risen, of identity that escapes me.
posted to the Akashic Records
from the Bride
