When Mankind Switches Roles

The Old Man.

My eye's found that of an elderly man, his skin aged with wrinkles that told the stories of his past. A past that meant nothing now, as his future was utterly screwed. My doing of course.

A key dangled from the pockets of mine, and I reached for it, taking them out before I headed towards the frail figure. 

I clanged the cleaver against his cage to get his attention to me, and his pure brown eye's full of kindness and sorrow at his demise met mine. He knew what was to become of him, afterall, everyone here did. 

He didn't resist as I tied his wrists and dragged him from his residence. I heard breaths of relief from the nearby individuals. They felt lucky it wasn't them in this situation. Lucky they weren't to be slaughtered today. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, but at least not today. 

The old man groaned as his head dragged against the solid floor, and I refrained from glancing back. I couldn't stop now. My life above all else, that was the promise I'd made. He was just someone in my way. 

A cold breeze met my waiting face as I entered the butcher area, grasping the man's hand and propping him up on a solid-brown table. I removed the rope restraints, and tightened him down on it, wrapping the straps from the table around his wrists to keep him from struggling. 

I would kill him first before I skinned him, it was the very least I could do for his soul. He looked pure, kind even. As if he'd been a wonderful grandfather on Christmas who utterly spoiled his grandchildren to the fullest. He'd make it into heaven, that I knew. He would arrive in eternal paradise.

I eyed him sympathetically for a moment, my lip's twitching as his own eyes shut close in anticipation. The eventual pain that would strike him, before it faded, and his own conscious would blacken out. 

"I'm sorry, but it must be done." I muttered at last, his eye's widening and meeting mine at the sound of his own kind, before the cleaver met his aged skin, tearing the connection of neck and head as a spurt of blood burst from it. His head rolled from the table, falling to the floor with a resounding slam. 

His brown eyes were hurriedly dulling now, a quickly coming storm of cloud's gathering themselves upon the pupils. 

The guilt never left me even as I tore his clothing from him and disposed of it. Not even when I began skinning him, leaving a bucket below to catch any retreating blood to avoid a mess.

As I hung the red muscle and flesh tissue which seemed to be all that remained of him now upon a hook that would transport his carcass into a freezer, the last look he'd given me flashed once more into my head.

A look of pure recognition, and despair. One of his kind would be the one to end his life. Hope for a better future when people like me existed wasn't possible. The image stayed in my brain as I tried sleeping beneath the trees at night, keeping me awake for however long it wished. 

Maybe I would get used to the feeling of murdering humans. Maybe it would get easier. 

I hope it would get easier. It was a sick wish of mine, but I couldn't help it. 

One day I would leave this place behind, and I wouldn't be forced into this role any longer.

But for now, I just had to play along.