Fandom Drabble: The Witch
I've been playing too much L4D2 lately. I've been consumed by this fandom and, as a result, am forced to write. This thought came to me today while reading various fics and getting ready for work.
The Witch.
That was what they used to call me. I barely remember anything from that time. I have absolutely no recollection of my life before that; from the time when I was human. They tell me that I'm human now, restored to my rightful state of mind. I'm their triumph, their years of research come true. They say I'm hope.
I don't believe them.
I barely feel human. My days are spent in much the same way as they were before. I sit and watch the day pass by. Sometimes, when its nice out, I walk around the compound for a little while. The people here long stopped being afraid of me, but that doesn't mean that they speak to me. Apparently old habits die hard. I still hear whispered jokes as I pass, warning not to startle me. People laugh quietly, as if ashamed to do so.
Few of them know how much more difficult it is to startle me these days. They keep me heavily sedated most days for my own safety as well as their own. I've been "cured" for six months but they still are weary. Too many loud noises, large groups of people, anyone standing too close, they all make me twitch. Something snaps and I find myself starting to growl, my fingers twitching. Someone has to clip my nails every few days; I like them long and sharp.
Sometimes, when I look hard enough, I can still see the blood stains. I'll never know whose blood stained my fingers, or know how many lives I took. Perhaps its a mercy. Humans aren't supposed to kill each other. And, as they remind me every day, I am once again human.
Like I said, I don't believe them.
The Witch.
That was what they used to call me. I barely remember anything from that time. I have absolutely no recollection of my life before that; from the time when I was human. They tell me that I'm human now, restored to my rightful state of mind. I'm their triumph, their years of research come true. They say I'm hope.
I don't believe them.
I barely feel human. My days are spent in much the same way as they were before. I sit and watch the day pass by. Sometimes, when its nice out, I walk around the compound for a little while. The people here long stopped being afraid of me, but that doesn't mean that they speak to me. Apparently old habits die hard. I still hear whispered jokes as I pass, warning not to startle me. People laugh quietly, as if ashamed to do so.
Few of them know how much more difficult it is to startle me these days. They keep me heavily sedated most days for my own safety as well as their own. I've been "cured" for six months but they still are weary. Too many loud noises, large groups of people, anyone standing too close, they all make me twitch. Something snaps and I find myself starting to growl, my fingers twitching. Someone has to clip my nails every few days; I like them long and sharp.
Sometimes, when I look hard enough, I can still see the blood stains. I'll never know whose blood stained my fingers, or know how many lives I took. Perhaps its a mercy. Humans aren't supposed to kill each other. And, as they remind me every day, I am once again human.
Like I said, I don't believe them.