zelkov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
passetemps) wrote2023-06-13 12:00 pm
passetemps) wrote2023-06-13 12:00 pm
Entry tags:
last resort: memshare (cw family death, murder, mild gore)
you're seated alone in a shadowy corner of a tavern, an untouched mug on the table in front of you. it's not what you came here for. your attention is focused strictly on a man seated at the bar.
it took a long time to track this one down. unlike the rest of the bandits you've hunted, this one had eventually left his life of crime behind and settled in this village at the foot of the mountains. some might think he'd chosen to turn over a new leaf, but you're sure he was just running away from the writing he could see on the wall as each of his former associates gradually dropped like flies.
enough time has passed that he must think he's home free; he's laughing raucously at the bar, no longer looking over his shoulder, and it makes your normally cold blood boil.
to see this man smiling, surrounded by friends, when you've had nothing to smile about since the day he and the other lowlives came to your village. you remember their smiles — your kind, gentle mother's as she cared for the patients at her clinic, and your sweet little brother's when you came home from the academy and he ran down the stairs to greet you. and you don't care if this man has changed or not; he's had this coming ever since then, just like all the others.
he's the last one, and when this is done, you'll finally have avenged them. this has been your sole purpose in life since they were taken from you, your one reason for continuing on without them.
finally, the man pays his tab and leaves, saying good night to his friends. you quietly leave some gold on the table and follow a moment later. and as soon as he's far enough from the tavern, in the shadow between the street lamps that are spaced just a little too far apart, you strike, grabbing him from behind and pulling him into the cover of the tall pines that line the street with your knife at this throat.
you could draw this out and make him suffer, but no matter how much hatred you feel, you don't have it in you. you just want this to be over.
"this is justice," you say quietly into his ear, in the hoarse voice of someone who's barely spoken to anyone in weeks. you cleanly slash his throat in one fast motion like you've done dozens of times before. blood sprays onto the snowy ground and onto the sleeves of your cloak, but that's fine; you only wear black for a reason.
the body crumples and falls to the ground, and you stare at it. it's done. finally, your revenge is complete.
there's an indescribable wave of relief that washes over you... but the feeling of satisfaction you'd expected after all of this never quite comes.
you realize, finally, that you never really thought this far ahead — about what you would do after you fulfilled your purpose.
what are you going to do now?
it took a long time to track this one down. unlike the rest of the bandits you've hunted, this one had eventually left his life of crime behind and settled in this village at the foot of the mountains. some might think he'd chosen to turn over a new leaf, but you're sure he was just running away from the writing he could see on the wall as each of his former associates gradually dropped like flies.
enough time has passed that he must think he's home free; he's laughing raucously at the bar, no longer looking over his shoulder, and it makes your normally cold blood boil.
to see this man smiling, surrounded by friends, when you've had nothing to smile about since the day he and the other lowlives came to your village. you remember their smiles — your kind, gentle mother's as she cared for the patients at her clinic, and your sweet little brother's when you came home from the academy and he ran down the stairs to greet you. and you don't care if this man has changed or not; he's had this coming ever since then, just like all the others.
he's the last one, and when this is done, you'll finally have avenged them. this has been your sole purpose in life since they were taken from you, your one reason for continuing on without them.
finally, the man pays his tab and leaves, saying good night to his friends. you quietly leave some gold on the table and follow a moment later. and as soon as he's far enough from the tavern, in the shadow between the street lamps that are spaced just a little too far apart, you strike, grabbing him from behind and pulling him into the cover of the tall pines that line the street with your knife at this throat.
you could draw this out and make him suffer, but no matter how much hatred you feel, you don't have it in you. you just want this to be over.
"this is justice," you say quietly into his ear, in the hoarse voice of someone who's barely spoken to anyone in weeks. you cleanly slash his throat in one fast motion like you've done dozens of times before. blood sprays onto the snowy ground and onto the sleeves of your cloak, but that's fine; you only wear black for a reason.
the body crumples and falls to the ground, and you stare at it. it's done. finally, your revenge is complete.
there's an indescribable wave of relief that washes over you... but the feeling of satisfaction you'd expected after all of this never quite comes.
you realize, finally, that you never really thought this far ahead — about what you would do after you fulfilled your purpose.
what are you going to do now?