Valentine's day short story... ---------- "When roses bloom in the graveyard, what do you expect the devil would do? He would rip them out and watch as the shredded bouqet land lifeless on the cold pavement. Oh how pissed he gets when he sees families weeping at their close one's funerals, Oh how sentimental and mushy it gets. Oh how he envies and hates them." ---- The death of Aunt Elizabeth. I feel no remorse or any sort of emotion as they lower the casket into the ground. My mother's grip on my shoulder tightens and releases as she sobs into the hankerchief. I grimace. My father, who's on the stage, is crying. He's speaking into the microphone and I pry myself loose from my mother before walking down the aisle, to the graveyard. The faint voices make me shudder inwardly as I can hear dead souls moaning. The rumors about the cemetary are true... But I didn't care. I told myself to not give a damn, and that Aunt Elizabeth would be very happy in her new home. That's what I hope. I even told myself to cry to sleep tonight, in memory of her. If tears do not flow, I'd hit my head against the headboard a few times. Why do all these insane things? You didn't kill her, I bet you'd say. Wrong. I was the one who accidentally switched the jars of honey and jam. Aunt Elizabeth was always allergic to honey. Always. That lead her to her death. "It isn't your fault." It isn't? The voice that told me it wasn't my fault faded away as I continued my walk. Oh, it wasn't, eh? Poor Aunt Bethy who was blind and needed help, poor Aunt Bethy who was the only console I've ever had. I didn't kill her, hm? The voice shut up and I frowned before picking up my pace. I felt uncomfortable here. My walking soon became a jog and I landed on a patch of dirt next to freshly dug ground. I peered inside. I almost regret it, I do. Somebody pushed me in. ------ This girl. She wasn't crying at her Aunt's funeral. She wasn't depressed, at all. The only emotion she felt was... well, nothing. She shrugged it off nonchalantly. Oh how I hate you, little girl. No older than fourteen with shoulder length black hair, curled for the occasion, and piercing emerald green eyes. That's where she got her name from. Esmerelda. On my list of souls to reap, she was the last. I was undoubtfully thankful for it, I felt uncomfortable when my superior tossed this at me. I scanned the list one more time. "Esmerelda Jane Fleur." I repeated the name, the feeling of being sporked in the guts returned. I grimaced and clutched my robes before looking down at her from above, she was just standing there in the... hole, looking at me patiently before speaking. "Hello sir. I accidentally stepped into the hole carelessly, please help me up." Carelessly? Accident? Was this girl being shy or was she always this modest?! Or was this about her Auntie Beth, who she "killed"? Other than that I felt sorry for her. Blaming herself for her aunt's death? Darling, I was the one who planned it. Sadistic, no? I killed an innocent soul for pleasure. Yes, girl. PLEASURE. I killed your pitiful aunt for the sake of being entertained. ----- I raised my voice as I called for help, but the man stood there, relunctant to go. "Sir, may you please help me? Maybe a rope may help!" Maybe he's dumbfounded, a girl, my age, here? My, I must look like a fool. I glanced up again. My mistake, not a man. A boy. About four years older than me, the age of eighteen I presume. His hair was in brown curls and those piercing blue eyes stared into my soul. I shivered. The nameles boy began to walk away, and I frowned. Had he no sense of responsibility? Yeah. And I'm the one talking. Fifteen minutes had passed and now I'm sitting on the dirt, fiddling with my hair. It's always been silky, but I detest it when it has to be curled. It's like ripping branches from a tree. You're killing it. The boy returned with a rope and he tossed on end at me, and I grabbed at it, grateful to God that he wasn't as heartless as I assumed he was. ----- The girl was playing with her hair when I came back. She looked innocent as an angel. A purely innocent soul. I groaned before mentally slapping myself. Commenting on a girl, how beautiful she was? I may as well be Lucifer's lunch. The girl climbed up before clawing at the dirt, and I helped her up. "Thanks." And with that, she dusted herself off and walked away. ----- Today was hectic, for me, at least. I looked at the hole before shuddering and running back to the burial, where my father would be putting on eyedrops and "crying" as the guests left. Just like onstage. What a performance... ---- That girl. Did I just save her? Me. Luke, the reaper of hell? Not to mention, SHE WAS ON MY LIST OF SOULS TO REAP. Thank God there were no deadlines, or I would've been tortured mercilessly back where I belong. ----- Short. Short. Short.
----- A stinging slap to the face just as I foresaw. My father was raging and my mother was trying to talk him out of it, but secretly, she hates me. Oh how ironic this gets. But I didn't care. My mind wanderwd back to the mysterious boy who had saved my from my death. His facial features were so... stern. And determined. For what? His attire was out of the world. Black, embedded with rubies and all sorts of rich material. I grimaced when my father said the word "poor". I turned away and walked to the gazebo, far away from the bickering couple before sitting down on the swing set, whistling. His blue eyes had shocked me. ---- That girl. Being hit by her parents because she ran away? Touché. I cleaned my dagger, but this immense fury I felt shook me. Why am I feeling hatred towards these two adults? I should be glad they hit her. I ignored it before heading to a random tombstone to pay my sincere regrets. ---- Short. Italics for regret because I can. ._. sarcasmmm