Rage

Rage

The sands lay under the sickle-like moon, parted by a roaring flow of flames. There, on a twisted hunk of steel, perched a hooded figure, warped and twisted from the stifling warmth that pounded it into unwanted shapes against the anvil that was life. It watched the dead tree burst into flame. The being found the crackling wood soothing, as life blackened on the riverbank.

A sharp crack sounded behind it, and the creature whipped around. You could almost see a malicious glint in the violet, soulless orbs that were meant to be eyes, but which were smothered in ice.

Even the air seemed to freeze under the frigid gaze.

The withering stare landed on a small girl’s eyes, too knowing for her stature.

She whispered in a hoarse voice, as if she had screamed till her throat was raw: “Easy to hate what you cannot have, isn’t it?”

The creature curled its lip and slowly, agonisingly slowly, tilted its head, almost catlike. “Why disturb me? Why come to my domain? Why do you feel the need to intrude into my life?”

It spat every word as if it were bile upon its tongue. The girl flinched as if the words were blows, each one crushing her spirit, each one worse than the last. She turned and fled, the wrenching sobs that wracked her body echoing past the horizon.

The creature observed the dim silhouette, and felt that something was gnawing at it. A ferret was nibbling on its foot, but it felt nothing. It was nothing compared to the strange feeling consuming it from the inside out. It shook, shook as the feeling speared through its veins. It sank to its knees from the writhing thing under its skin. Why, it thought. Inside its shattered excuse for a heart, it knew though. It knew, and hated it. Hated what it had done. Hated the world for bringing that pest to its doorstep. The hate scorched its veins, burning out the mysterious poison. And it burned. It pleaded with any gods that were listening to stop the blinding agony.

But none would answer, and it would hate them too.

In a flurry of rage, the being tossed its metal seat into the earth’s lifeblood, laughing maniacally as the blaze morphed into anything and everything that it hated. It wanted them to burn for what they had done. To burn like itself.

When the storm of flame and shrieking steel died, the creature began to see. And all it could see was the destruction wreaked upon the metal, and what the anger had done.

It was fuel, and a curse.

Anonymous

Illustration by Lucy Huang