Evu'Nes (first chapter tease)
© 2005-2007 Maxime Racaud and Ebone Bullock. All rights reserved. Comments and crit appreciated.
Blood. That was all he could think of, syrupy thick liquid the dreadful color of death. He stumbled back, bumping his shoulder into the wall as his body was taken over by a fatigue stronger than he'd ever felt before. This was a new sensation, a draining surge of mixed emotions that seemed to devour his very soul. He'd never killed a man before. Somewhere in his naive and still childish mind, he'd imagined it would be easier. He had the foolish notion that he could will the uneasiness out of his mind, but now, standing over the corpse of a man who had only moments earlier been struggling for his life, he knew all too well. He should have known from the start, from the very moment he'd accepting this path, how hard this was going to be.
His hands shook as he stared down at the glassy eyed, expressionless form beneath him. Blood dripped from his fingertips, still warm and sticky. This man, this life he took, would haunt him for years. This is what he chose, and he knew now that this was far from being the last time he would stand over a hollow shell with blood dripping from his guilty hands. He was going to take it all in, every horrible, gut-wrenching emotion and pray to whoever his soul would answer to that bearing the pain and guilt of his kills would be enough to save him.
He took a breath, suddenly starved for oxygen as though he'd been holding his breath. Perhaps he was holding it, he didn't know. He was too transfixed on the remains of this stranger to pay attention to such meaningless things. He exhaled slowly, his breath escaping jagged and sharp in the silence.
The sound of his breathing was bringing him back to reality. Slowly he began to feel the numbness leave him. He felt his heart throb in his chest, the burning of his lungs as they craved more oxygen. He leaned against the brick wall behind him, relishing it's cool solidity. He was still alive even after the sin he'd committed. He would survive, and perhaps that was the most horrible realization he'd had since pulling the knife out of his pocket. Penance would find him like a masochistic mutilation on his soul. He'd never forget this moment. He'd never allow himself to.
"...forgive me..." His hushed voice seemed too loud, alien to himself. He pushed off the wall, his boots grinding stones onto the concrete as he took a staggering step. The fatigue was fading now, his strength returning as he remembered his resolve.
Just as he was regaining his senses, he heard a sound to his right, something moving slowly in the abyss of shadows. He froze as panick welled up within him. He wasn't about to go through all this trouble only to get caught. There was still too much to do.
His fist clenched around the ornate handle of the antique knife he held, wanting reassurance that should he need to use it again the blood wouldn't make his hand slip. Another soft sound echoed from the shadows, and again anxiety rose in his stomach. A quiet laugh followed, one he couldn't mistake, and the recognition eased his nerves slightly. Only slightly.
"Are you going to follow me now?" He still wasn't used to his own voice, sounding foreign as it escaped his throat.
"Just checking in." A silhouette appeared at the edge of the shadows, but that was all he needed to see.
"I'm doing just fine."
Another amused chuckle. "Just fine? Your aura is a mess, Yao."
"Fuck you. I'm doing your dirty work." He tugged the hood of his jacket over his head and carefully slipped the knife back in it's sheath. He'd clean it later when he was alone to remind himself of what he'd done, to keep his will strong.
The figure moved slightly. "Yes, but you're doing it willingly, aren't you?" His tone was amused, mocking even, and Yao had about enough of this disgusting alley on the south end of the city.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away. "Don't visit me again."