gabhi
Nobody's willed to go through with this. Their hands are shaking and their lips are trembling and the picture would be funny if it wasn't so grotesque. We're way too out of our leagues here. We stare at the blood in our hands, but we can't quite finish what we've started. To hit and punch and kick is one thing, but to finish someone off, forcing air out of their lungs and their hearts to stop forever? That may be too much.
We throw up as we dance. It's an odd habit, admittedly, but it's still what makes us us. You'll complain about the weather and I'll complain about you. You'll hold my hand and I'll want to kick and scream. You'll tell me, "You're an angel," to which I'll say back, "You're the Devil Himself," and to that we'll toast and cheer, and yet another year will go by.
I was thinking about what it means to be pure, what it means to be untouched and holy. I was sitting on the end of my bed, and staring at the two dead bodies making the carpet soaking in blood. The smell made me want to throw up, but I didn't. I was thinking about Heaven and Hell. I was considering myself lucky, because I know I'm one of the lucky ones. I know my place in Heaven will be golden and bright, next to my Maker.
I was thinking that I may be a killer, but I'm saintly so.
For Heaven's sake, just drop the act.
I raise my eyebrows and I stare at the demon smirking at me. It won't recognize to my sanctity, to the halo above my head, but it'll recognize to my sword if it presses hard enough against its throat.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"What we all want. Immunity. I don't want to burn when the End comes."
I sigh. Again, that?
Don't be ashamed of the sin on your skin. It makes you whole and it makes you as pure as it makes you dirty. Don't be ashamed of the complexity of being a sinner. Surrender to the sin, give up on the halo. Sanctity is overrated, anyway.