Satan’s Blessed Souls
A girl appears every night in my dreams.
Dark, empty, cold…
Every time, the sequence repeated without fail.
The void is empty besides the dim light shining down upon the dead girl’s body. There is no other light source. No one else. Nothing else.
Covered in a trail of crimson blood, the liquid soaking through her white dress and pooling along my feet. Every night, I stood over her dead body, clutching a knife in my hand. I scrambled back, throwing the knife onto the ground as my knees give out. A scream comes out from my throat, yet I realize my ears won’t work.
Or is it my voice that has left me?
I steady myself again, try to stay calm again, slowly crawl towards her again.
Blank eyes like misty glass, beautiful black hair, with an almost calm expression. The most beautiful image of death, if only there wasn’t a hole pierced through her chest. Somehow though, I’d always come to the conclusion that she was an angel from heaven.
Someone had murdered an angel.
I stared back at those blank eyes, then back to the pool of blood around us.