BY RICHARD HERDLEIN
The chase began beyond the broken courtyard walls of the castle. The hunter could not escape the grasp of the hunted. It was merely a cyclical dance that presented a myriad of plausible outcomes from the onset amidst the inaudible thoughts. The decay of the castle represented the crumbling of the reaper’s mind. Over these decadent times, the wear and tear of the hunt had made the soul weary and the battle had lost its luster. When you call into consideration the question regarding the meaning of existence, only then can one come to grip with the uselessness of a life filled with vengeance and destruction. The completion of the mission only leads to the next and death begets death. There is no more deception of beauty, and only inherent decay. The solitude continues for eternity unless the proverbial chain can be broken. In times of unrest, the dissident soul follows the path to enlightenment or darkness.
The prey was now in sight. As the tree’s danced and cast dark shadows in the distance, the target was calmly stepping through the stones and meticulously picking a path through the chaos. It appeared to be looking for something of value. The being was not looking frenetically, but was almost exuding an aura of serenity during the search. The hunted appeared to be the type of being that would welcome a wailing winter wind arms outstretched even if that wind was destined to deliver them to their utter demise in some other form. There may have been those that construed the being to be sentient in their own reality. This was no ordinary victim.
At first, this did nothing to abate the blood lust and primal urge of our conflicted hunter. The road has been long and less traveled. Will this future victory over the gods will not quench the desire to destroy once again or will it just arise two fold in the belly of the beast? Will the ones who rewrite the story be forever cursed? There is a constant tug from the bowels pushing the fiend to wreak havoc like an addict in withdrawal looking for the next hit confronted with a feeling of chasing the dragon down the path toward the eternal flame. Feed the ego the flesh of the kill and satiate the hunger with more thirst. This is not the time for self-doubt or quiet consternation. Get out of my head!
The conflict within the killer raged like a tempestuous soul rising from the ashes of Valhalla. There are only two paths to take at this crossroad. Continue to kill and forever be a prisoner and chase this sickening high derived from absolute destruction and mutilation. Win this battle but never win the war. The second path involves running away from the screams and the pure horror while chasing away the chilling voices clamoring for the coronation of evil. The two sides are so far away as if a turbulent thunder storm is pushing the waves to crash into the confines of the mind filling all those little cracks and crevices with abhorrent imagery. The Reaper has to shake this trance or it may be forever frozen in a state of inaction by these potential conflicting paths. Does every path just end?
Shut it down. Block the noise. Crazy begets crazy. Focus. It has come down to this. The reaper requires a meditative state now to complete the task at hand. All thoughts have to be pushed out and aside in an emblematic display that even make the likes of Siddharte proud. The victim and these thoughts had to be pushed to the periphery. The push of all this sludge through the temporal lobe sets free the body to act without interference from the conflicted mind.
The body is quick to act without the restraint of thought and prejudice. Once unsheathed, the glint of the dagger illuminated the path to the victim. The Reaper resembled a cat in the moonlight ready to pounce on its victim. There was this wear and tear from the road in those eyes, but the body moved swiftly with great stealth avoiding all impediments. Once upon the victim, the silence transformed into a savage sequence that looked like poetry describing a dance. The hunter spun and drove the blade into the stomach starting just below the button and exiting before the rib cage. The blood gushed as the victim flailed and fell. The blade sliced through the neck in an upward motion as the body fell to the ground. The blood began to splatter and cover all around it. It was almost as if the blood had come to life and joined this horrific dance.
At this moment, something awoke the reaper from the meditative state. What triggered this occurrence will forever be a mystery. Control was lost once the thoughts began to trickle back in the twisted mind. The feelings of angst and despair reared their ugly heads as fast as the blood flowed from the jugular. These thoughts and feeling were crushing whatever soul was left within the reaper. This supposed soul could not handle the turmoil and divide within the conscious mind. The weight was crushing and pushing all boundaries to their extreme limit and leading the soul to its ultimate demise. Fragments and larger pieces of the soul began to fade and some of the essence even began to completely disappear while the body continued to cut and slash mercilessly. Fear entrenched itself and dug in, of, and around the entire bloody scene. The tortured soul began to fade out with only a monster being left behind….
