Rook's Monologue

a character's monologue

 

They say eyes are a window for the soul. I wonder what they would see in mine.

I remember… that day… better than I do yesterday, or any other day for that matter— my lungs began to burn from the smoke and then my eyes the moment I opened them. It wasn’t the soft pale smoke of a fireplace or the faint smell of tobacco—it was black smoke, the kind you only get from burning rubber, or buildings.

The next thing I remember about that night was the warmth… the sudden painful warmth that washed over me like the air was boiling. Arson. Arson. Arson... The smoke, the ruddy glow, the smell of singed flesh— it filled me… and now it’s all I breathe.

           

            The last rays of sunlight are withdrawing from the city and the streetlights have started to flicker on. Few cars pass by now, the steady aroma of diesel is fading and a light breeze sweeps loose trash around in circles. A few men are gathered around a drug vendor at the end of an alleyway haggling for the best price on their happy pills. I wait, just watching for now… then foot steps echo off the bricks and a frumpy woman in heels with owl-lense glasses begins to walk past the mouth of the alley.

            All eyes are on her as she makes the mistake of stopping to look over her shoulder. I don’t wait for the metallic click I know will follow—I don’t know why—any other day I would have let her die… or killed her myself. It’s this perverse pleasure of playing god for a moment— taking something that can never be given back. Tragically beautiful. Humanity certainly is a masterpiece… all of us… starving artists. The hunger never ever goes away. Perhaps that’s why god still hasn’t answered our prayers yet.

            The pungent smell and taste of copper blood and I came back to myself—one of the men lay bleeding on the cement, the others shrank back. I shot him? Then it is my own blood I taste. I can feel the craving start to gnaw at me. I break another’s nose with my gauntlet and push it up into his spongy brain. They’re fleeing. Some childish part of me wants them to stay. Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay and play with me… Grabbing an arm, I press my knuckle into the joint, hyper-extending it and laugh with delight as I hear the bone snap. He is larger than me but it requires little strength to make someone injure themselves.

 

            I delivered the woman to the police later. I heard on the news that she refused to speak of the four murders she witnessed. In fact, she refused to speak at all. I’ve gotten very good over the years at killing my regret. The thing about regret, sadness, happiness, even love is that over time it leaves you just a petals fall from the weeping cherry trees near city hall. Insanity is different… it sits down in your favorite chair and stays as long as it likes… and the smoldering hunger never… ever… goes away.

Author's Note

this is not a confession... *shifty eyes*

Reviews

[Mey]

i love the first line "They say eyes are a window for the soul. I wonder what they would see in mine."
*put into coat and walks off with*
one shot? or introduction to something more?