My favorite addiction

I am addicted to killing people.

I can taste the blood in my mouth as he punches me in the face and replaces his hand with a sword moments later. 

We have been fighting for hours, minutes, seconds? My mind loses count; it blurs, but I stay steady on my footing. With the way my body moves around his soma, I will not lose to him. 

I can hear every sound in the background, the leaves crunching beneath me and every pebble or stone I flip with my steps. 

His nose is bleeding, eyes burned through, his breath is ragged and his clothes tattered; I myself look beautiful, my hands are covered in a mixture of our blood, I feel a sense of security, of belonging, as if this is who I am, who I was always meant to be.

A killer, cruel, dishonest, and greedy, I ache to take their lives, to have control of choice in possession. 

“You’re horrid.” The man coughs; he's on the ground now, holding onto his chest. His eyesight must be blurring, and I know that he's aware of what's happening now.

“Y-you're-” 

“I’m a lot of things, sir.r” I cut his sentence off. He flinched as I reached for his hand, as if I could hurt him more than I already have.

He's right to be worried; if I wanted to, I could jab my sword through, right in the middle, but I like savouring it.

I like savouring a man's last breath. I want my voice to be the last thing he hears before he descends to whatever he believes comes next. 

I hold him up against the tree; he groans, and my body shivers in pure ecstasy. Killing makes me euphoric: to see their blood spill, to see their body go pliant and pale, to hear this man's jagged breaths, to know all that they can see now is darkness and their mind is blanked, every inch of his soul and heart is gone, his heart beats no longer, and he will never speak again.

Oh, it makes me feel elated. 

His body is still; the knife I just lowered into his neck drips with his blood, undeserving of this coming since the man did nothing wrong per se.

The king has orders, laws for the kingdom, and he kindly asks of us all to take the lives of those who go against our way of living.

The man was old; there are streaks in his hair of wisdom and knowledge; his brow is softening now as his body relaxes. His face has wrinkles, not those of a man who fulfilled his purpose, but those of a man with doubts, with failures during his livelihood, and perhaps a wife, kids. Even as I look into his clothes,s I find photos of young girls huddled around a rose bush.

The man might have deserved more, maybe, but only the Lord and the King know, for I am a mere servant and enforcer of the rules.

Enforcer, that word echoes in my mind, so I say it out loud, though when it rolls off my tongue it feels warm, a little sour as if I just ate a lemon or drank some citrus juice. It fumbles around me in the wind as I say it again, as if it can't catch itself.

“Enforcer,” the king says it's an honour to be labeled as such, to be given this duty,y and we should go beyond reasonable measures to ensure we achieve what this calls for.

I hear a twig break behind me and a soft chuckle. I spin; my mind sharpens again, and I feel the air. I hear the rustle of the squirrels, and I smell what I'd like to assume is his corpse slowly decomposing, though I like to think of it just as the animals around; I'm still humming, and the idea of a cadaver behind me is still a little daunting.

A man's shadow emerges, but the worry leaves me and lets my shoulder relax.

“Hello, prince”

“Hey darling, are you alright here?” He chuckles lightly; his voice is soft with me. It reminds me of the feeling of putting new jewelry on, airy and comfortable, excited to feel something on me and see it shine while realizing it's all mine. 

The prince is the kingdom's armed enforcer; he is the most powerful, all-knowing, and seeing, and is above us all, though nothing compared to my king. He is the heir to the throne, and it leaves me a little baffled every time he grabs hold of my hand or pulls me in by my waist. 

“Another one, sweetheart?” he questions, gesturing to the corpse.

“They're everywhere lately” 

“They are. I'm proud of you, my love;e, you're doing a fantastic job” 

I grin, my eyes mollified, and I skip on beside him, adjusting the remains of the old man to bring him some comfort in the afterlife.

We are all born to die; there's nothing else we’re born to do. We grow into who we believe we are, and we work forward to either become better or worse. 

We are promised nothing in life; we are not born to be something specific or be someone important; we are all fillers, and this world is no one,e yet it's filled with things for everyone.

The only constant we have is that we all must pass. I'm humming a slow tune;e, it's one my father used to sing around the house.

I rip the pictures of the man's kids and wife and place them around him, gathering little flowers and pebbles to make a memorial. My prince leans against a tree across from me, his eyes following almost all of my movements.

“You were born for this, baby.” he smiles; he says he finds it enticing how I do such an act and then treat the ones I caused to suffer with such kindness.

I was born to die just like this man, and I know when my time comes, I will go as well, but for now I will enjoy myself with my sweetest, most handsome prince and malicious persona,

And maybe in a world so cruel, so chaotic, and full of violence, this was all I was made to do.