The night when the moon turned red

A scarlet blade pierces the black sky, as I hear his last gasp of life. His thick blood has stained my jacket and his empty eyes, like many, has stained my soul. I feel no regret, and no remorse… this is the way of the assassin.

The blade still drips of alcoholic blood, the room fills with a foul miasma of death. The courtyard is filled with wealthy guests drinking to their hearts content. Their drink-filled minds are too tipsy to even catch a glimpse of my shroud. Though I still felt eyes stabbing my back, but maybe it wasn’t theirs.

A withered spirit followed me, as his footsteps became louder mine became faster. I then went into the shadows. He demanded identification. He only heard the whispering wind. He drew his blade, and so did I. My reflection showed on the cold steel….his own was the last thing he saw. This man was loyal and brave, he deserved a soldier’s death and nothing less; this was not one.

As I wash my stains, I see a demon in the stream. He’s not smiling or grinning. Instead I see sadness in his eyes, as he stares at mine. I do not sympathize with his plight; he has committed a heinous sin, one which cannot be forgiven. Yet in him I see a noble person, kind and loving to both friends and family. When he lost both, he sought out the demon responsible. But in trying to slay the monster, he became one himself. It’s so tragic it’s almost ironic.
As I walk through the alleys, I notice children playing in the streets. I envy them, not for their youth, but because they are still pure, uncorrupted by the sins of the world. It’s sad to know that one day, that won’t be the case. “Excuse me sir, can we have our ball back.” A sudden smile crept on my face.”Sure”. As I return the ball what appears to be the mother raises her hand “Stay back! Don’t you dare lay a finger him, if you even touch him; I swear I’ll slit your throat!” I admire her motherly instincts, and how it went as far as to challenge me. I bowed apologetically and took my leave.

After a while I thought back to the woman. She reminded me of my own mother, willing to even kill the devil bare handed if it meant protecting me. Sadly she did…..or at least tried to. But then I wondered, why she thought I was a threat. My hood wasn’t on, my stains were washed and I was only returning a ball. Was it because she knew I was evil just by looking at me? And then I wondered if my own mother would recognise me after this. Or would she, like the former, see only a damned soul that god himself could not redeem. The rain hid my tears.

As I reach the exit I could hear a commotion headed towards me. Crying, yelling. It was as if something horrible happened, when in fact, nothing did. It’s mortifying, that how even from grave, that gluttonous boar still commands legions of deadly soldiers. As I retreat, I feel death’s shade cloak me. No matter which corner I took, no matter which roof I climbed on, no matter which way I went, they still followed, almost like hunting dogs, following the scent of the prey and closing in on the kill. They corner me off hoping to seal my fate. Instead they revealed theirs, covering the sky with blood. After the rain ended, all was quiet. Except for my heart, it mourned for my innocence, for it too fell to my blade.