Death’s Servant

Death was something that always disturbed him. From the pungent smell to the emotional response, the whole process seemed unnatural to him. How could something be so full of life be snuffed out so easily? Was life some cruel game, a mean to decide the fate of another? This is why death had to be appeased a life for a life. As many as possible….
He trembled.
He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to kill either; yet before his feet laid a battered and bloody corpse. A puddle of blood pooled underneath the body, staining platinum hair red. Feeling the chill of the autumn breeze began cool his bloodstained body, he sighed.
He looked upon the offering, a young woman this time. Her glazed eyes stared into the abyss of his soul. He sneered; even in death she mocked him. Those unseen eyes still reflected light, something that seem like a distant dream to him.
She was the fool. She had it coming, presenting herself in such a fashion. Walking in that outfit, exposing that much skin. She must have known her Lust made her walking target. From her low cut, lacy blouse to her fishnet stockings; she should had known, and still she got into his car as if they were old friends. How stupid. He was a stranger, and he was her John.
Death had chosen her the moment she boarded his vehicle, the moment she stroked his inner thigh. Not even the sex stopped the suffocating hand of death from consuming her. She struggled when he wrapped his hands around her throat, kicking and clawing to get away. She even succeeded, for a time. She had fled, naked and screaming, into the woods.
A pointless endeavor; she was not the first offering. He knew where he and the chosen could be alone in his master’s embrace. Of course the ritual ground was on land he owned, far away from prying eyes.
He heard her fumbling through the thick brush. Tripping down inclines, colliding with trees, and yet he paced himself. Paced as a predator waiting for his prey to tire itself out, soon it came to pass.
With a harsh trip she fell down the bank landing in dry creek bed bloody and trembling. He smiled at this she had worn herself out, just like the ones who came before. She tried to scrambled away rocks clattering underneath her as she dragged her exhausted body. Her time had come; he watched as she struggled to roll over, broken cries leaving her as she fought to turn over. This is it, he told himself as he slid down the embankment. He bent down, and picked up a rough, large stone. It weighed heavily in his grasp, hard and unyielding.
He stood above her, watching as her eyes watered and tears spilled down her cheeks. Did she think he would spare her, by showing this panicked moment of weakness? As if it was enough for him to spare her from a fate beyond either of their control?
He smiled, a grim turn of the lips. He tightened his grip on the rock, and raised it above his head.
“Please—” She screamed when stone met flesh. He didn’t stop until she was motionless, chest still and bloodied face staring back at him with clouded eyes.
He stood there till the sun sank below the surface, it had happened so fast that the time had seemed to have gotten away from him. For the first time he grazed upon his own flesh, stained, an odor rolling off in a sickening musk.
He needed to bathe, the master hated filth. Another reason he had chosen this area was for the spring that laid beyond the dried creek.

The spring was cold as the blood washed from his skin, his gaze came to rest on the line of skulls circling the water’s edge. Each a testament to his master’s will, each an order and an offering.
Soon the newest offering will have her place among the brothers and sister of the spring.
He rose from the water and walked back to his vehicle and changed into the spare clothing stored in his trunk. He slipped back into his suit, feeling a new man. The master was pleased this he knew as he drove on to a gravel road. His face held a smile as the outline of a cottage came into view. He parked and entered the house to be greeted by the three squealing children and his loving wife.
“How was work my love?” his wife asked, her voice like honey.
He only smiled and kissed the tops of each child’s head. His gaze never left the darkened corner where his master stood, silently waiting for its next feast.

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