Hermitcraft Oneshots

Dear Angel

In time, he had learned to be his brother's other half. Evil Xisuma.. the name felt right, so he shortened it. Ex. He could live with that. He was already the antithesis of his brother, changing his name to reflect that wasn't any skin off his back.

Brother, why do you let them call you that?

Dear angel, sometimes you just have to follow the tide.

But they're calling you evil! They're saying you're the evil me! They have no idea what you're really like! It's not fair!

Dear angel, you are perfect. If I am the evil version of something perfect, then thats a fair bit better than what they are.

But..

Shh, its late, dear angel. You should get some sleep.

Evander..

Ex, dear angel.

I..

Chapped lips pressed against Xisuma's impossibly soft skin, warm tingling on his cheek as the person the lips belonged to pulled away.

I love you, dear angel, now get some sleep.
---

Xisuma had never known his parents. Evander had always filled that gap.

It might not have been the ideal life, two brothers against the world, but for Xisuma it was all he knew.

And he wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Sure, times got tough. Yeah, life wasn't ideal. But they had each other, that was all that mattered.

Evander was 11 when his father died. Xisuma was still in his mothers womb. Though, it was far from the first time he saw death.

Evander was 12 when his mother died. Xisuma was just born.

They had learned to make due.

Xisuma had been little older than 8 when first he saw death. A woman, who couldn't have been a day over thirty. Her skin nearly matched that of the tree behind her, legs kicking, voice straining, eyes burning with fear as a noose claimed her life.

Witch!

Demon!

Whore!

Thief!

Liar!

Shouts flowed through the air, each louder than the last, none consistent.

Xisuma hadn't known the woman, much less what she had been accused of, but that hadn't mattered- not to the crowd.

She, for whatever reason, had deserved to die.

Anger and fear melted and mixed, swirling into blizzard of rage and violence- a primal, animalistic feeling. The mob didn't care how, who, or what, they just needed blood. Death. Destruction. Chaos.