Thursday, October 2, 2014

This Town

This is not a diary, this is not a love letter, and this is not a suicide letter.  This, my friend, is a promise on paper.

I want you to know that I have spent countless months thinking about this moment; this act of vengeance. I've been mourning and feeding, not off of man or animal but off of anger. The longer I hold back on my natural, or unnatural urges, the more my hate grows. Believe me when I say this; when I come after you, I will be hungry.

And dear friend, I won't come after you or even your family right away.  I"ll start with this town first. A town that has been harborring a demon right under their noses, hell, I've even become friends with some of them. Rest assure, however, their blood will be spilled. Each and every one of them.  I will make it quick however, I wouldn't want to get overzealous and ruin my appetite. 

I will then move onto the following town, and the town after that and the one after that; never once taking a bite.  The bodies of every man, woman, and child will fill the air with thier decay. And the moment that stench of death breaches your borders, it will be too late. 

You're family and friends will worry, because they remember. They will look to you for guidance, because they are week. You will preach, as you do best, and you will give them all a false sense protection and hope, because you, dear sir,are hopeless yourself.

Though my hours are limited, as you well know, there are more hours of darkness then there ever will be of light. And when darkness does arrive, you and your town will know what it is like to truly die alone.

To take away life can often be a gift.  In my case, and that of Lilith, our death was a gift.  It was a rebirth, it was the moment in our lives that we joined hands and walked into the obscurity and beauty of oblivion.  We were brother and sister, we were lovers, we were soul mates.  We were.

You, and your town took away hundreds of years of pleasure, pain, rage, and love in a few simple seconds. Much like myself you and I have made decisions that can never be revoked.  We have become people, if you can truly call either of us by that word, that reached the point of no return.

I do wish you good luck and a goodnight.  And please, as you tuck your children into bed this evening I want you to do me a favor, one of which you owe; walk outside of your warm home and breath deeply. Let in the fresh, October air and tell me how it smells.  

Then check on your children again.

All The Best,