They call me an ordinary boy when I was a mere child, but as I grew up, I became no longer ordinary. I became what every man feared, I became a demon.
It all started before you were even born. It happened a couple centuries ago, when I was a boy. I was only eight and all I heard around me, was the screaming of the dying, the silence of the dead, and the people who weep for those that had died.
It wasn’t a good time, and to trust in your fear would have been to give into everything and anything that could take you away from this place and time.
I had two younger brothers, and two younger sisters. And it was mourning at the house, that had gotten my attention that day.
My youngest sister and brother had passed away. I can still see the look on my mother’s face as she cried for her children that would never come back from the ground.
It was indeed a sad sort of day, but I was still too young to understand what had happened. I remember walking up to my mother, and she grabbed me. She shook me hard, and made me swear that I would never be put into the ground like the rest of her children.
I nodded, while my face looked on beyond her, and a small tear leaked out of the corner of my eye, not because of the death of my brother and sister, but because my mother’s nails cut into my arms, and they left half moon shapes in their place.
Three days later my mother was sick, and she was coughing up red blood. My father told me not to look at her and to leave her be.
That was the biggest mistake I had ever made.
Ten days after my mother had gotten sick, she was dead. And that is my mistake. Not taking my mother’s words more seriously.
Because if I had taken her words more carefully, perhaps my soul would still be intact. Maybe I wouldn’t be the monster I am now.
The day of my mother’s funeral, was one in which there was a figure who stood in the back. I remember seeing him, because my father had walked to the back and he had asked the man what business he had with his dead wife.
I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I was fearful. I was scared not only for my life, but the life of my family as well. That was when the figure who was wearing a heavy cloak turned around, and looked at me.
When he looked at me, I saw his red eyes glow for a second, before I gasped and turned around to face the funeral precession.
That day changed my life forever. Because not only would the demon man take away my life, he took away my soul.
Just a quick piece I wrote up. Not sure where I’m going with this, but I’m assuming that I can get a chapter or more out on Fictionpress. We shall see, seeing as how I get distracted so easily. Especially since watching Game of Thrones has made me want to write again. Damn you George R.R. Martin! Why do you have to inspire so much?