Pointing fingers

[maricarceneau]

This thread is for Jim D. Chandler.




A Slave until The End of his time

A dark star-filled sky was heavily wrapped over the roofs of San Francisco. Its clear sky had since long lulled people to sleep in their beds. The hour was late. The adults gathered their energy in order to take on yet another day at work once morning would arrive. Their children dreamt of pirates and the Wild West, not worrying about the coming tests or the fact that they hadn’t done their homework. In a normal life, Maric would have no doubt been a family father whose only worry was that his children would get good grades and find some good friends. But that normal life he had always dreamed about was still far from his grasp. He’d lost sight of it once more. As such, that dream was the last thing on his mind as he stumbled through the park. Like in so many other times in his life, Maric ran. It seemed to be one of the things he was good at. This time it was from yet another corpse of a fellow hunter. After a week of carefully planning he had stabbed the man in the back. Like many other times he’d covered his tracks, putting the blame on others. This time by making the attack look like it had been done by a werewolf.

Maric stopped for a moment to look around. That’s when he spotted the public bathroom, not far from where he was standing. Despite everything that had happened this night it would seem that he still had some luck left. It was just what he needed. The blood that stained his face and his hands only left him more agitated, and the gash on his shoulder needed to be taken care of. From the looks of it the park lay abandoned of any living creature, at least for now. That didn’t stop him from being on his guard. As he carefully approached the bathrooms his gaze darted from left to right. His body tense, ready to escape at the slightest sound of company. When he reached the bathrooms he took one last glance into the darkness surrounding him. There was no sound of footsteps, nor did he hear any voices. Still hesitant, he eventually stepped into the light from the lamp-post which lit up the bathrooms and hurried inside.

Maric relaxed slightly when the door closed behind him and as he noted that he was, indeed, alone in there. He felt somewhat safer inside its protective walls, safe from anybody who was out and taking a stroll in the thick shelter of darkness. Leaning his body slightly against one of the three basins, Maric was finally able to take a look at himself. A frown decorated his forehead as he tried to recognize himself through the dirt and the blood that covered his face. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were in just as a bad shape. The black jacket that hung loosely over his shoulders only helped so much in covering the blood stains his wound had left on his white shirt. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a few minutes to calm down. His hands taking a steady grip of the basin in order for him to stop them from shaking.

From what he’d heard, experts always claimed that killing would be easier the more times the deed was done. He felt as though it was only getting harder, and the guilt only grew on him even more by the day. He knew that what he did was wrong, yet he was unable to stop himself. Maric slowly lifted his hand and turned the warm water on, leaving a bloody handprint on the side of the basin as he did. As the sound of pouring water slowly began to have its calming effect on the hunter, his body relaxed even further. He closed his eyes for a moment before he began to wash the blood from his hands. The bandage on his left hand would have to be changed when he got to his motel room. The slightly dried up blood wouldn’t be so easy to wash off from it.