May's Workshop Stories

The Story of My Life

The golden eagle soared through the skies proudly, letting out a screech. Once upon a time, that was me.

I was the pride and joy of my country, the Golden Eagle of Victory, they called me. However, the eagle crumbled suddenly, not leaving behind even one bright feather.

Now they call me The Raven of Doom and fear me more than anything words could describe. Even just saying my name can render a person powerless. Terrified. After all, I am the villain of their story, but things weren't always like that.

Once upon a time, I was praised as a hero of our world, the greatest general ever. The grandest warrior who walked the earth. My sword was glorified for being bathed in so much blood that its blade was permanently tainted red. At the time, they saw that as a sign of my heroism, my devotion.

Now that they have turned their backs on me, now that they are terrified of the power in my hands, they call me a butcher, a monster. And I am all of those things, but the truth is I always was.

I have killed many people, more than I can count, and I don't regret it. After all, those were the casualties of war. But, when everyone turned against me because of an incident that had nothing to do with me, rage consumed my heart in its fiery flame.

"Murderer! Bloodthirsty fiend! I knew something was wrong with you. No one can be that good at fighting without having sold their soul to the devil!" the people surrounding me exclaimed in righteous wrath.

Funnily enough, those same people were the ones who had praised me as their hero before, their savior. How soon one turned from a hero to a villain in their eyes was astonishing.

However, I was never a hero, nor did I set out to be a villain. All I wanted was to do my duty and help free my people from oppression.

"We should hang him! Burn him on the stake!" the crowd continued to roar as I purposefully ignored them lost in my contemplation.

No one sets out to be a villain. It's not a path you choose for yourself or dream of taking. However, even though they are wrong, even though I never killed any of our own people, let alone in such a brutal way, the fact remains. I have so much blood on my hands that no matter how much I washed and scrubbed, I would never be able to wash it away.

"They want me to be the villain. Fine. I can do that," I thought as rage took over every cell in my body.

The people I fought for, whom I protected my whole life, turned on me so quickly. They had forgotten the sacrifices that my men made, that I made, to keep them safe.

They forgot that I lost everything because of them, my wife, my children, everything.

And they dared turn against me after all was said and done after they no longer needed me to protect them from the big bad wolf. All it took for the tide to shift was one random person saying I did it. That was justice? That was respect?

"You want a villain?" I raged, my voice booming, reverberating off the mountains where they decided to ambush me. "I'll give you the greatest villain you have ever seen!"

All the pain and suffering I had been suppressing for such a long time came bubbling to the surface as I lost all sense of reason or control.

A creepy smile spread across my face as I brandished my sword, tears spilling out of my eyes without any control. It was as if everything I felt was fighting to break through, and the only way to get free was to release all the pant up rage, to let it run wild and destroy everything in its path.

As I started slashing through the crowd with expertise that none could match, I barely even heard their screams of pain. I barely even registered their agony. I was in a red haze that only blood could disperse.