soul

"It is a pity that the state of human existence,

Has shrunk down to so much and swelled to so little

This was the not the vision our forefathers and foremothers

Foretold for us. This was not the thought that came to existence

When someone, fruitful in age and fruitful in wisdom

Sat down to think about what the meaning of existence truly is."

He thinks.

His head is dulled by the images

Of ghosts, dark lights flitting around in his mind

Invisible to everyone. but all too clear to him

Since you are what you eat and he has

Absolutely no idea how that relates to his state of existence

But he inhales words, bleeds sentences, creates lives, eats souls

Like the ravenous monster he is

So he supposes that that's the reason why

The sentence popped into his head.

He considers himself a kind man. It's been a grand total of

Sixteen years since anyone has died by his hand

And, as a member of the society of the underground, everyone knows

That that's not something to be laughed at. The gun gripped

In his calloused fingers seems old and dented, but the bullets inside

Haven't been fired. He likes to think that

It means the purity of his soul is still there, the purities of the souls

That will come to life under him will be guaranteed.

He kills a woman.

Not that the gender matters, since her body is dead,

One body dead is one soul gone, and her soul is gone. He has eaten a soul,

But this time it is for real. There is no more pretending

The demon of the streets is out to get him, she was out to get him, and the

Boy crouched in front of him, asking if he is okay,

Is most definitely a spy from them.

He raises his gun, hand shaking, body shaking, the adrenaline

Coursing through him as his finger tightens on the trigger, presses down, and

The bullet goes right through the boy's head.

Disappears without a trace. The boy brings his hand forwards from where

It was twisted behind him, and holds out a bullet to him, clean

And devoid of blood, similar to how the boy's head is devoid of holes.

His hand doesn't stop shaking.

Instead, it trembles harder, like a leaf shattered by bullets in the raging wind.

"Hello, sir. I believe you dropped this. Do you need help getting up?"

The boy's voice rings through his head like a chorus of fallen angels

He's convinced, now, the demon of the streets is

Seeking vengeance, wanting him to

Take another life. Feed the bloodlust of the monsters like him

Who roam the streets of the underworld.

He sits up, the fog clears slowly from his mind.

The boy smiles wider, and waits, the hand with the bullet outstretched in front of him

Like a sacrifice.

He pushes the bullet aside

And takes the boy's hand.

The boy smiles widely, angelic

It doesn't match his face, but he accept it as the boy

Pulls him up slowly, with more power than you'd expect

"I'd be glad to help you, sir. Follow me, please."

He closes his eyes and lets his tarnished soul lead him.