Perfect Flaws

7. Hostility is a Specialty

Elijah

I became a monster, and in all honesty, I'm more than proud of it. I take genuine and pure pleasure in watching life drain out of their eyes. It's even better if they cry, when their pleas escape their eyes, dripping, spilling onto their cheeks. I prefer it.
It's a trophy. It's like a crowd applauding for me.

Some might say, I'm a conniving, monstrous, and waste of living flesh. But I know what I do, and no matter who doesn't understand my mind, who doesn't understand exactly how I feel. I will always finish what they started.

No matter the family they have. No matter who loves them, I will be a vicious human, I will serve the justice I see fit.

They destroy lives, they torture whoever they please, and they are respected. It's hilarious, the irony of it all.

"Elijah, on your left," Dal mumbles.

I quickly turn, firing into the moving practice target, a fiery bullet hole sits straight into the fake head. "The point is to injure them, not kill them," Dal sighs.

"It's all or nothing," I reply, grinning.

"Are you sure you should still be pining after them?" he asks. "Would you?" I reply with a question.

He stares at me, "It isn't healthy, seriously dude you look psychotic." I roll my eyes, "Again, answer my question."

"No. Everyday you make me question why I'm friends with you."

"I ask myself why you think we're friends," I admit.

"Dick," he scoffs.

I grab my training gear, and walk out of the training room. Sweat drips down my back, coldly.

"Wait up, shit," he breathes.

"I don't wait for anybody," I inform. "No shit, that's always been clear."

"Oh yeah, what happened to that poor girl, the one you almost killed?" He asks. "Nothing, and she's not poor, she's fine," I sharply reply.

"Ohh, I struck a nerve."

"I'm perfectly fine, Dal, enough."

"Bro, trying to make you feel any emotions at all, is like that one last piece of shit stuck between your ass cheeks. No matter how many times you clench or unclench, it doesn't budge," he compares. I gape at him, filled with disgust. "Don't give me that look, everyone's been through it, and if you haven't, you're lying."

"You are remarkably dense and disheveled," I shake my head, deeply disturbed.

Dal shrugs, walking off toward the weapon room, "And you're a shellfish."

Dal has known me since we were five years old. We lived at an orphanage together, and were immediately attached to each other. When we were seven, we were kidnapped, and forced to train into soldiers. We go around and 'injure' whoever needs to be injured.

Well, that's the other recruits orders, personally, I crave to finish off what I start.

The first eight years, I hated the system, I hated the people around me, I hated what they made us do. But as I got older, I went through experiences, situations that changed me, mentally messed with me.

And now? I look forward to waking up, and wondering who's next, because I know exactly who they are, and what they do. I witnessed it first hand.

___

When I make it back to my small house, I unlock the door, opening it to be greeted by Nala, my black labrador retriever. She wags her tail, making circles, with her mouth open. "Hi, Nala, is it time for dinner?" I ask, smiling.