Fragments in the Dark

prologue.

"I am its weapon, and at my hand, its exploits will be painted red for all to mourn."

•••

Ten.

"Aren't you a little old to be afraid of the dark?"

Nine.

The dark? It's my companion. But there is one thing that scares me. It carries with it the force of all that is unknown, and into my chest it thrusts its potency. Each enervated strand in my brain is monopolised by its command, and around me, a storm begins to brew. Its voice thunders like an uncoiling growl forced from the jaws of a rogue canine. Its words hurl electricity along my bones, galvanising my every muscle.

Eight.

"I'm not just underneath your bed, I'm inside your head."

Seven.

It says it's here to protect me. Its voice never attains more volume than its signatory gravely whisper. And from the world it does provide shelter. Against the emotions that clout the minds of those around me, it extends its shields.

Six.

"You are a weapon, and weapons do not weep."

Five.

I can't escape its clutches, nor can the rest of the world. At its hand, I have been moulded into a virulent armament. I cannot transgress. I'm not certain that I want to.

Four.

"Fear is a means to an end."

Three.

The winter has incinerated everything in its path, leaving only snow to pound the charred ground. But the snow isn't snow. It's the ashes of everyone I've killed. Grave after grave, I'm tired of burying my friends.

Two.

"Ready?"

One.

But now, it's counting. Again.

Go.

And I'm running out of time.