I am your angel of death.

A Story by David Rouken

Short fiction inspired by a dream.

The policeman prodded me, the smell of his cigarette-stained breath clashing with the freshly washed smell of his crisp blue uniform. I recoiled from his touch, it felt unnatural. Eyes, the colour of tempest tossed waves probed my soul from their perch under the overhang of his heavy brow.

He has but one question; “Why?”

I turned against the uncomfortable green of the plastic chair, and remembered.

The smell of burnt gun powder (oddly like nutmeg). Standing in that cold classroom, broken, tiles that once could call themselves cream-coloured, instead of that unnatural brown. Their dripping blood on those ghastly blue and yellow uniforms, turning myriad shades of unholy purple… Their perfect, mocking faces marred by only a small red dot between the eyes… Bang, you’re dead.

The snake slithers and winds under graying skies, clouds fat with blood will rain down soon. People are talking, words passed between friends like disease, filling the air with pointless words; they’ll miss them when they have none left. The Horsemen of the apocalypse are in the bar, readying for the ride ahead, don’t spill their drinks. There are people here too. Wave hello, not sure if they’ll see you though, their eyes are sunk so deeply into their sockets that they are blind to the world, ears stuffed full of paper and lies, mouths sewn shut with black cotton. Their senses are dulled, yet they smile contentedly… They are addicts to some unknown hallucinogen, some venom, seeping through the cracks in their consciousness. Sometimes I wish I was on that drug, maybe it would make me… happy…

Is it right to resent their happiness?

Walking among the rows of desks, cold steel rifle clasped in my grip, my scythe. The weight feels good in my hands… natural… Musty classroom smells, reminders of better times. Spent pencil shavings, undying love declared in crude petroglyphs upon the shiny surfaces of black tables, all memories now. Irrelevant. Tiny dervishes of dust swirl silvery patterns in the orange rays of the setting sun. Some whimpering issues from the back of the class, so pathetic… Under the last row, two girls in a cowardly embrace. You can’t hide from what’s coming more than a cow can avoid the inevitable slaughter. Where is your God now? Where was he when you turned me away, shuttered me out of your existence, left me to suffer in silence?… so many words gone unsaid, so many emotions still unfelt. Pity. Bang, you’re dead.

I’ll leave you to your sleep, your eyes so filled with final horror. A smile plays across my face. Ask for no ceremony or fanfare little ones, you don’t deserve it. My gunshot was your dirge.

Stepping outside, into cold, grey air. The only colours left of this day hang in the bleeding sky, the rest have succumbed to the shadow of night. The playground, swings and rusty metal roundabouts, once filled with joy, now become perverted poisoned silhouette spiders. This is the scene of my burning, my suffering, my persecution. My redemption. For so many years they ignored, overlooked, so high on their drug that they couldn’t see the tragedy unfolding before their glazed eyes.

Look at him, he’s different.

Weird, shame, poor kid.

Pay no mind, he’s not like us.

Harmless. Other. The silent one.

I planned, each day becoming more rooted in my intent. None of them noticed.

Look can you see the horsemen of the apocalypse on the blackening horizon?

Here they come. Can you see them now?

I am your angel of death.

Bang, you’re dead.