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Blood Makes for Decent Fuel

My sister is dead. This is a fact I can no longer deny, for I would only be lying to myself, and her.

My sister is dead because the scoundrel that robbed her is nothing less than that - a scoundrel. He is a marauder, a fiend, an act of evil that no loving god would ever devise. My only conclusion is that he must be the spawn of Satin himself. Now, I arrange for him to meet his father...

I hadn't seen Angelica in days before I knew, in the pit of my soul, that something was grossly off. We had been separated before, but even then I would still catch her scurrying about the camp like a frightened field mouse beneath the scrutiny of an overhead owl. This time, however, her absence hung in the air like acrid dust. My eyes constantly combed the camp in search of her, of her shy smile and petite hand as it would sneak a frantic wave my way. My eyes failed, and no Angelica was produced.

Now, no hint of cruel doubt yet lingers in my mind. Colonel Namath murdered my sister. He beat her, he starved her, and now he has deprived the world of a spirit that shone brighter than the sun and touched even the lowliest of places with its warmth. Apparently, even the sun can succumb to errant cloud. This is what I silently growl to myself as I approach Namath’s tent, a bloody-hungry blade clutched keenly in hand.

The pompous ass is completely unaware of my presence as I noiselessly step into his quarters. He is alone as his eyes scan the map on the table before him, and the night is quiet outside, but my odds are still not auspicious. While I am taller than Namath and more visibly muscular, his obesity grants him practically inhuman strength and better yet – underestimation. It is quite a simple concept to overlook Namath as just another fat old man, but my sister learned that he is far more than that. He is a fat old monster that is intelligent enough to conceive battle strategies, yet ignorant enough to believe that beating young girls will solve his problems. I will not allow him the opportunity to rectify this egregious error.

After bringing his wineglass to his pink, wormy lips and draining the contents, he turns and reaches for the jug, only to be startled nearly to death by me in his doorway. I almost lost my chance.

“What are you doing here, boy???” he demands.

“I was merely wondering if you happened to see my sister, my lord,” I say casually as I grip the handle of my blade tightly behind my back.

His voice is ghastly to the ears. “I have no knowledge of the girl you speak, now remove yourself from my presence,” he barks.

I chomp down on my tongue to quiet the sharp remark lingering upon it, and I force a smile. “Forgive me, my lord. She is difficult to miss. She has raven hair, green eyes, a-”

“I said that I have no knowledge of this girl, now get out, or see yourself whipped, boy,” he admonishes.

He fills his cup before turning back to his map, planning his battles and playing at wars while my baby sister lies rotting in the ground somewhere. She is cold and her heart is still, and this bulbous spider sips away at his wine like the ground beneath his feet is his and the world spins just for him. I am still here. I am alive, and Angelica’s blood flows in my veins as mine congeals in hers, and it is she that exacts her revenge through me.

Striding forward, I snatch the wine jug and shatter it against the side of Namath’s head, toppling him to the floor. Before he is able to regain his senses, I throw every pound of my weight on top of him and backhand him several times just to be certain he is awake.

“You will give me your full attention,” I say grabbing collar of his shirt and yanking his head off the floor.

The wound on the side of his head is bleeding profusely, but it does not impair him beyond the ability to listen. Unable to control the anger now seeping through my pores, I jerk him violently, the back of his head smacking the floor.

“Her name is Angelica,” I say through gritted teeth. “She has raven hair, green eyes, and she is no taller than a child. She is fifteen years old and was under your servitude. Have you seen her?”

His face pales, and I feel my heart stop. The blood hardens in my veins, and my knuckles whiten around the hilt of the knife as I press it to his throat.

“Do you know who I am?” I inquire, my voice emerging harsh and dry. “Did you even know who she was? Her name was Angelica, and my name is Gabriel. She was my little sister…and you killed her.”

I am forced to look away as I fight tears, but my attention is drawn back to Namath as he begins bartering for his life, which he knows hangs in the balance. “I know who she is. She w-was a terrible servant. S-she was always stealing from me, and she must have run off in the night.”

“You lie!!!” I roar. “You beat her! You beat her every single day, and now she is gone. I want to hear why. I want to hear why you killed her!”

But I can no longer bear the sound of his voice. His voice was the last my sister ever heard, and it is high time I silenced it. Again I strike him with a closed fist, commanding quiet, and I lean in closely as I speak to him.

“She was beautiful,” I whisper. “She had the most beautiful smile, and she will be able to smile down on you.”

I shove the knife into the side of his throat, smirking at the wet, tearing sound as the knife penetrates his flesh with satisfying ease.

“She will be able to smile down on you as you rot in Hell.”

I straighten, and without a warning, an arm wraps around my throat and I am hauled away from Namath and thrown across the room into the custody of British officers that have hurried to the aid of their commander. As they restrain me at the shoulders and shove me to my knees, one of the officers rushes to Namath and kneels beside him, but it is too late. Namath is dead.

Time seems to slow in this moment, and yet, as I recount the events of this past week, everything seemed to have happened too suddenly to even notice. My sister was here, and then she was gone. Namath was alive, and now he is dead. And just as suddenly, and without any warning, the long, biting edge of a blade is dragging across my throat.

My sister is dead, and now…I am too – just as I planned.




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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

dejarenee said...
today at 11:32 am:
I like your diction! your choice of words really captures the reader! 
 
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AlexandraPoemhunter said...
Aug. 7 at 2:13 pm:
It's my first submission, and it's definitely a trailblazer!
 
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