Warnings: Angst, descriptive death, dark romanticism.
Too good to not share: this is part of my English final but of course I had to make it about some people y'all know about.
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"Dark Romantics focus on human fallibility, self-destruction, judgement, punishment, as well as the psychological effects of guilt and sin."
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He remembered in great detail what it felt like to have his silky brown hair between his filthy fingers. He remembered the power he felt when his brother shouted for mercy, begging him to stop, but he ignored his prayers. He had never reached such measures, but he had no choice: he had to eliminate the competition. The need to be number one became so strong that it led to an action that he was going to later regret. Screams full of hate, and colorful words came out of his dirty mouth without his permission. Michael, his twin, implored him to let him go, since he had done absolutely nothing; he did not even know why his beloved brother was behaving so aggressively, nor where did that vocabulary was coming from. Victor remembered how he smashed his brother's head against the rocky wall that consisted of the local Church they both attended daily. Victor did not care that he was committing such blasphemy in the house of God, he just wanted to finish things once and for all: this was the only way out. Michael's head was hit against the wall the Church's wall, but it was the last blow that knocked him unconscious: a blow against the white altar. The altar was commonly used to put the blood and body of Christ at the time of the Eucharist during a common mass, this time it was the blood and body of his brother that laid gloomily on the altar that was now stained with blood. A smirk crippled up Victor's face at the sight of his brother shedding blood. He grabbed oil, the one used for oil lamps at the Church, and poured it all over the altar and his brother's unconscious self. He pulled out a match and lit it, admiring the small flame that was later going to become his own nightmare. He threw the small piece and as soon the match touched the altar, it shined brighter than the sun itself. Victor laughed maniacally. He had won the war with his brother, but he had lost the war with himself.
Later on the month, remorse was eating Vic alive. No one could not believe such a tragedy nor who was the responsible for it. Everyone pitied Victor since it was believed that his sudden change of personality and appearance was due to the grief of losing his twin brother, when in reality he was secretly dying to yell at everyone the truth of his brother's death: he wanted to confess that he was a murderer that deserved death as a punishment for committing such a blasphemous act in God's house; Victor remained quiet. The man isolated himself in a room where the light of the stars, and the bright moon were making their way through the barricades' holes where the small windows used to be. The window's glass were shattered, scattered on the bloody floor, giving a worn out look to the chamber. The candles had gone out hours ago, leaving a smell of smoke when their flame died. The fire sickened him to the point he started using fire to burn his skin whenever he remembered Michael's dead eyes while the fire was consuming him. Victor no longer looked like the man everyone knew and loved, he became a person everyone was worried about but not enough to ask about the burns and cuts on his body, the bags under his dead eyes, the sudden loss of weight, and the loss of color of his long brown hair. Victor's back was hunched, self inflicted scratches and cuts were adorning his tanned and emaciated body. He could not bear with the pain anymore.
"Is this what you killed me for?" A haughty voice boomed through the room, startling Victor, who had been burning his fingers with matches.
"Who's there?" Victor asked in crude fright. He had made sure that no one followed him to the abandoned chamber located in the basement of the Church he had murdered his brother in.
"You had gotten so far for nothing," the voice taunted, "how pathetic. I expected more from you, Vic."
"You don't know me!" Victor shrilled in desperation. The man he thought he would never see again, had returned with fire in his eyes and blood on his hands, ready to aniquilate the person who had sent him directly to his eternal perdition with the man that had possessed him all along.
"You are weak, my dear brother," the voice laughed, making the scratches on Victor's body to open back again, making them bleed cascades of blood again. "Admit it, I would always be better than you."
"Shut up, you don't know me!" Victor insisted. He clumsily stood up, the shackles digging into his skin. He hastened to look for something he had in case someone had dared to follow him and ask the questions he did not want to hear.
"You are weak, my dear, just give up already." Victor shook his head loudly at the words the voice was pronouncing. He looked around the room, trying his best to find the origin of the voice; it was everywhere. There was no origin due to the massive echo that the chamber had. With a loaded shotgun in hand, Victor pointed at everywhere, trying his best in finding his brother's spirit.
"Why don't you leave me be?" Victor asked, his heart pounding onto his chest, making his whole body ache. He placed one of his hands on his chest, specifically on the area where the heart was located.
"You didn't even let me speak, why would you have a word in this?" The voice laughed and Victor's body started shaking, his chest now burning. His disfigured fingers were on the trigger, ready to shoot. Victor hated to admit the fact that the voice was right. During that evening, he did not even give his brother any explanation nor he let him say something. He felt how someone pulled his legs, making Victor fall down to the floor. One of his hands remained on his chest, aiding him in controlling his breathing, and his heartbeats. He could feel how the oxygen going into his lungs burning like fire. Victor was on the floor, bleeding, agonizing. In no time he began to cry his eyes out, making the voice laugh maliciously.
"Go away!" Victor cried in agony. He wanted to be left alone, but the voice became louder, making him to burn in his own fire of misery.
"Just wait until everyone hears who was the one who killed me and you shall face the consequences!" The voice menaced, making Victor tro shakily point the gun at himself, not wanting to keep listening to the voice. He wanted to silence the voice, but he could not find the source of it, thus he decided to eliminate the listener: himself.
"I shall not hear from you ever again in my life!" Victor shrieked, placing the gun against his heart. The voice laughed until Victor could not bear with the sound of the laughs anymore, he was sick of them. The trigger was pressed and Victor fell flat to the filthy ground. It was a clean shot, going through his chest with no problem whatsoever; Victor's heart was so hot that a small flame had emerged from it, the blood functioning as fuel to keep the flame alive. The scorching fire was so intense that it rapidly spreaded on Vic's bloody corpse, burning it until there was nothing left, not even the bones were seen. The blood that Victor had spilled evaporated, eliminating the traces that Victor died, but this was not all, all evidence that Victor even existed faded away, leaving everyone with the doubt that if Victor was actually a person, or a demon that took the form of a human that finally returned back to where he belonged.
