Jacqueline: OakMature

I was jerked abruptly from sleep and automatically sat up, a knife produced from beside me, letting out a bothered noise when I realised it was only another particularly loud headcount broadcast buzzing in my ear. The night’s slaughter-fest had actually succeeded in disturbing my sleep, resulting in bizarre, twisting dreams that were beyond comprehension. I almost never slept, but this was a special occasion. A minimum of twenty competitors had fallen over the course of the night that I had managed to remember, along with a few civilians that...decided to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a small pity for them, but still major progress in the dire circumstances that were the Killer’s Games.  

The sheets were shoved aside quickly as I stood, moving to tighten the blinds shut and pull the curtains in to keep the sunlight out. One of the most revolting things about living on Earth was indubitably having to deal with the harsh, glaring monstrosity that was the sun. Sure it was the origin of all life, but also preposterously annoying, shining like that half the day. Disgusting.

I took a spare set of clothes from my briefcase and dressed within a few minutes, combing my waist-length hair out and pulling my trench coat on as well as the fedora balanced on the corner of a nightstand.  

Kera and/or Jim happened to be out, so I took the opportunity to descend the multiple flights of stairs and catch a bit of fresh air myself. A short walk and I had reached a charming little park that happened to be home to plenty of trees, the cool shade of a massive oak tree gracing the bench I chose to inhabit.

I looked on as the world sped by around me, a dog fetching a Frisbee, an elderly woman tossing bread bits to the ducks in the creek, children running about playing some whimsical game-

Children. Running.

I grew cold as I fought to keep the memories from re-entering my mind, but it was inevitable. I had revisited them too often for their banishment to be permanent.

Blood. Pain. Screaming. Tears.

The vision was becoming clearer by the moment. Fists formed at my sides, knuckles white.

Death.

One of my hands moved to the hidden scar beneath my collarbone instinctively, limply falling to my lap as I finally succeeded in burying the past and the raw emotion threatening to bubble out into the world.

Emotion was weakness. Except for when it was allowed to become motivation, drive.

Motivation to rid the world of the evils plaguing it, by any means necessary.

A ball bumped into my knee and knocked me out of my stupor, being quickly followed by a pair of tiny, bouncing pigtails.

“Hey lady, can you pass the ball?”

I did as was requested, looking on as the children resumed their play. Murder was murder, but the reasons behind it were everything. I never killed children, or the elderly. They were innocent, they had reached the stage in their lives where darkness meant nothing more to them.

If only I was the same.

 

 

 

 

 

The End

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