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Nicholas Morin Nicholas Morin
Recommendations: 5

A Game of Good Intentions

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She had a friend.

      The blood pooled on the hilt of my sword as it glistened down the thirsty blade. It took what must have only been a moment to reach my steady hand. The grip I held had turned my knuckles white. I could now feel the stains of my fiendish deed set in as his vile blood continued to seep between my fingers. My knuckles were no longer white. The gurgle of his last breath brought more joy than sorrow to my face as it forced its way through his lips.

I had never killed a man before and had feared I would be sickened by the act. It now scared me more to think that I actually liked it. Yet, I carried on. I knew that it was right of me to challenge him. His everything disgusted me. Deciding it best to draw my weapon from his body then to leave it at the scene, I forced what was once him off the blade with my boot. He deserved no more respect in death then he did in life.

I felt it necessary to admire my work; it brought me such pleasure after all. Making my way around that thing on the floor, I aimed every step with caution as to not track prints around the room. Was it so wrong of me to chuckle as I traced my steps again and again? It laid there on its back with its eyes staring blankly towards Heaven. It was amusing knowing that its soul would never see the real thing. I was the better man in this.

I fixed my sight on the hole my sword had left. It went clean through the chest and must have grazed the heart. What a triumphant feat it was. I made my move swiftly and with great effect. He had barely time to draw his own sword let alone properly defend himself. A quick parry was the only move he could make in retaliation. A faster thrust on my part was all it took to end it all.

Pride overtook me. The need to gloat prevailed over reason and I began to mock the bested corpse. Before this I had favored the clean cut a tongue could make more than the mess of any blade. Yet still, as savory as each word I uttered was, they failed to meet my satisfaction. I took my gloating one step farther. Kneeling down beside that thing I grasped its useless hand and I shook it. All the while I continued to congratulate it, and thank it for such a thrilling experience. It was so great of him to die by my doing.

My excitement was short lived. For in the left corner of my eye I saw what appeared to be movement, and I thought myself no longer alone. I stood with full force drawing my sword once again ready to defend myself. I turned, lashing out at whatever it was but sword met only with air. Chuckling once again, this time at my own worry, I turned my sights back to the former man.

An ungodly vision met my senses. Those Heaven longing eyes now met with mine. At first fear crossed my mind as it would with any other but that was soon followed by uncontrolled anger! I whipped my sword with furry at the accursed thing. I had killed him! I had killed him! Why must he torment me even in death? Blood was flung everywhere around the room as I continued my outburst.

I soon paused to catch my shortening breath. Tears began to find their way down my cheeks. I thought surely now it must be over so I raised my head to check once again. It was far from. Before me now stood what had caught the corner of my eye. I was right to feel fear.
In a grey and hooded robe, accompanied by the mythical scythe stood as what could only be reasoned, as Death.

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