World Eater

24

ALZAR WAS TREMBLING.

He had struggled to swallow down the anger boiling in his blood, making his hair stand on end. He couldn't look at another one of his peers without feeling fear, and then rage.

Fancy had told him to keep this a secret, but Alzar was finding that harder than it sounded. What was all this supposed to mean? What kind of person wanted to kill their peers?

Squeezing his nails into his palm, Alzar crept past Sariel, who laid on the couch, fast asleep. He had come home sick and hadn't gotten up since then. Alzar was glad. He felt too nauseous to eat dinner anyway.

Hovering in the threshold of Sariel’s room, Alzar swallowed down guilt and shame. I just need to let out some steam, he reminded himself.

Reaching his arms under Sariel’s bed, Alzar pushed aside books and papers, fingers numb as they grasped the hard exterior of the box that had been on his mind for hours.

He curled against the wall, cradling it in his lap, the metal hinges creaking as he lifted the lip.

Two handguns sat in the box, a small container of bullets beside it. A fine layer of dust covered the box’s contents. The last time Alzar remembered Sariel ever even using a gun was when a coyote had gotten too close to the house- he had fired into the air to scare it away.

Alzar stuffed several bullets into his pocket. Sariel had taught him to shoot, naturally. Every other kid in his class knew how to work a gun.

Holding the gun behind his back, Alzar darted outside, leaves crunching under his feet as he traveled further into the forest. The canopy was a silent, calming blanket that hung over his consciousness, the chirping of cicadas drowning out the chaos in his head.

Leaning on his knees to catch his breath, Alzar wiped a thick line of sweat off his forehead. The sun was low in the sky, dusk almost catching it in its clutches. Low light oversaturated the colors around him, turning his surroundings almost surreal.

Gritting his teeth, he loaded the gun, firing it into a nearby tree. He flinched at the recoil, his hands growing sweaty around the trigger.

Another shot. The wood splintered, and for a split second, Alzar imagined it as flesh.

He fired again. A picture of a bullet-riddle flashed in his mind. What would it feel like to kill another person?

He stared at the scattered woodchips. He gagged, his mind's eye instead showing him a scene of blood.

“Stop it!” he shouted, throwing down the gun and grabbing at his hair. The thoughts wouldn't leave his head. He couldn't focus on anything but the violent image his mind was locked on.

Mania forced his body to quiver, one resounding desire bubbling to the surface.

He want to kill, to destroy.