Miscellaneous Roses

Prologue

Dead bodies scatter the floor. Each and every one of them a painful memory of the slashes and strikes I took against their flesh. The holy cross from the pint-sized, wooden table burns rapidly, the fury of the flames roaring through the now vacant halls, screeching its wrath upon the freshly polished wood. It burns. It burns before my eyes. I can hear the cries, the screams, echoeing whimpers of our struggling prey, last words to be shared before they all hugged each other close and took their punishment without a fight. They bit their lips at the rips we tore through their skin, and they held back the tears from the parts of skin on them that we set aflame. They went in peace, utter peace, without a word to be spoken. Half of me thinks of them as pathetic, not putting up a fight, not standing, telling us to sod off. They could of lived. The other half, the one that sings and grips at my heart, tells me these people not only had faith, love, and ability to no end, but they had strength in humanity. They were true humanity. We are not. We are the ones who barley even took a sliver of mercy on these wonderful people. We are the ones that sent them spiraling towards an unprotected death, eternal darkness. I don't know whether to be proud, to stand over them with a smug grin on my face, or to kneel by their sides, stepping in the puddles of red, and kiss them gently and tell them that they will be okay. I know I can do niether. I merely don't have the heart. I breathe in, long and deep; the sour smell of blood and the deceased spiral into my nose. Disgustingly beautiful. I can't help but smiling at this point. A church full of spilling blood, organs, insides and acrimony. All the anger, the feelings of hatred, they swirl before my eyes. I can see it now. We are the miscellaneous people, and we have done bad, bad things.

I hear gleeful cheers of victory beside me, and I turn to my 'companions'. They are battered, beaten, bruised, and drenched in the hatred. My smile only grows. I walk towards them, the smile never fading, and cackle loudly with them as we stare from much higher above at the low-lifed citizens, unbreathing and helpless at our feet. There is nothing more filling then the feeling of rippig through flesh and pulling beating heart from their rightful bodies. There is nothing more joyous then shooting down a begging soul, tearing up and helpless on the floor. Nothing. At least, not in my eyes. This is what we do. We are the miscellaneous people, and we have done bad, bad things. We are the miscellaneous people, and we have killed a room full of worshipers in a small, peaceful church, knowing that if there is any higher power whatsoever, it is watching, horrified, stupified as we butcher their precious believers brutally, slashing and flinging blood to the cream white walls and stainging the night with this memory forever. We are the miscellaneous people, we have destroyed families, we have captured, butchered, and eaten the raw entrials of our own kind. We are killers, criminals; insane, terror-inflicting, sad excuses for human beings, and we love it with every cell in our body. Watch and learn- we are the miscellaneous people, and there is no price you can pay that will change the way we hate the living.