Most are afraid of me. They ask "Why? Why are you doing this?" I don't speak, I never spoke. I only stare, watch, wait...and bring ungrateful ones to their own demise. Few see me.

Few like me. Many believe I am the reckoning of your sanity. That I am "thought up" through your minds. I don't speak, I listen. What do I hear? Nothing.

Just jabber of your "politics" and "economies", but nothing is done about the horrors that happen every day. You murder each other, steal from each other and break oaths with each other...but when you see me. You are shocked? As if you didn't see fate coming for you.

I AM your fate. You run and scream when you see me. Your eyes lie to you and your mind can't make sense of me. What am I? No one asked. Only false stories of my beginnings tell you who you WANT me to be. I will shed your lies and tell the truth...

I was a young boy. Jack...that was my name. I grew up in West Virginia. I was a lonely boy. I longed for friends to play with and talk to, but my small town consisted of adults. We all got along and everything was at peace. Our contact with outsiders was rare since we lived in a heavily wooded area. Our routine was simple, we chopped down the trees and burned them every night and ate rabbits and chickens.

After doing this random event every night, I finally asked my birth mother why we killed other living things. She said it's for our own survival, so we could live. After hearing her explanation, I stopped eating and stopped hurting living things. I only drank the water from the well once a day. I saw it that water was the only thing that could not be hurt and that lived forever no matter how much you used of it. It was eternal.

After 5 whole days without eating anything, I became sick and my mother started crying. She try to spoon feed me chicken soup in bed but I spat it out in front of her. I felt weak, so weak, but I conjured up words to tell her, "If it was once living, it was not meant to be killed." She sobbed and gave up, spilling the soup on our wooden floor. She ran away holding her hands onto her eyes. Our town doctor comforted her as they closed the door to my room. I didn't want this, I loved my mother, even though she lacked the mindset to see why we can't kill innocent living things, I still loved her.

On the 6th day, I lost all colour to my body and became a pale, sick, creature. I knew that this was the day I would die. Clouds were hovering above our town and no sound was coming from outside my room. I stared at my ceiling and prayed to my god. He was the only comfort I had left. I thought to myself that everything will soon be okay, that I would become an angel of light and live in harmony once again.

I swore to God to protect my mother and the rest of our town folk, for they hadn't done anything wrong, they only were misguided souls with the wrong agenda. Unfortunately, my life on earth would not be undone so soon. Out of complete silence I heard, the crackle of gunpowder shooting into the air.

I gathered my self to look out the window, through the fog and rain I saw bandits, men, burning down our town. Killing our people. My body began to shake after staring at this horror. For the first time in my life, I cried. I let me tears fall onto the floor. But through my sadness grew a new emotion, an emotion that was unknown to my town. Anger. With the remaining strength in my 11 year old body.

I got out of my would be deathbed and stumbled out of the room. I opened my father's drawer where his pistol was. I grabbed the weapon and moved slowly out of my house. I creaked open the door to see these villains still shooting and killing. It was downpour outside now, lightning streaked across the sky, my hand trembled as I rose the revolver towards the mongrels.

One of the woman who was kneeling at gunpoint caught my eye. It was my mother. "JACK!" she shouted, "RU-" the rifle's bullet pentrated her skull killing her instantly. That was the thing triggered pure rage. I aimed the weapon directly at her killer's face. I fired before he could turn. Crimson fluid exploded from through a hole in his eye. This caught the other bandits attention. There were four of them left. They aimed their rifles and shotguns at me, but my new found skill of killing some how out matched them. My hand almost latched on to each of these men as if it was my deceased father who had been aiming for me. I walked to the middle of the mucky flooded ground and knelt.

I was the last one left. The only one that didn't die. The sick boy who once believed that killing was wrong. I drew the six-shot under my jaw and pulled the trigger...it jammed. Why?... Fate. Behind me a hand of a female women touched my face with her soft hands. It almost felt like my mother's hands. I turned to look when I couldn't believe my eyes. She was tall and seemed to carry no face. Bull like horns petruded from her forehead. She wore no clothes, but she wasn't nude, she was a complete blank canvas.

I began to cry at her magnificence. To me, she was perfect, and nothing was wrong with her. With my trembling voice I asked, "Can you make me like you?" She tilted her head slowly and pointed back to my house. She walked passed me as she gently touched my face once again and she disappeared into the forest.

I felt no need for questions nor emotions. I knew my path. I walked into my house, I looked around and finally set my self onto my passed father's bed. I glanced across to his old dresser. I opened it. I pulled out a long, thin, suit. Fit...for a slender man.

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