Page 143 of Eyes Like Angel

The bold ink on my arm scorched a reminder, hence why I got it as a tattoo, not to remember the words I forged, but to stay grounded, like Eva’s faith on God.

My words are faith, so does Eva’s, and I’d gladly follow her blindly.

The words lingered onto my skin are my personal prayers. I have no God. No God but me.

In our life, we are our own God and Devil, meshed into one, there was no denying it, and we had our own pureness and our own darkness to shed out for the world to witness. From birth to death, from health to sickness, from beauty to ugliness within this trapped world, as long as the forbidden fruit lay onto my open palms, all it takes is one bite, to change the course and unseal our tears and have our purity consumed with the broken and the taint. Eva is my forbidden fruit, and I altered the history between her and I, events unfold and how consequences arises and challenges to come, we fall and fail, but never meant for us to hit a landmark on permanently staying to where we failed.

World works in mysterious ways, but in some others, are defined by the darkness involved, a way to drive people mad and makes people second guess, minds spinning to insanity to a lack of distinction between real versus fake, and the skin of a friend, or a loved one, has worn off. Rainbows and sunshine don’t exist, and my accomplishments on hurting and burying people’s existence were just a way for me to fight my path, to restore my sanity, to fulfill it—from those who wronged me, and wrongedEva. People’s miscalculated movements were a way for me to relish the game I thrilled and thrived on.

The birth of darkness lingered, and I had to strike back, no matter what.

Enemies are made and born.

I had to fight evil with evil, so no one could hurt or disposed me again.

Kissing on Eva’s head, I looked at the bold ink laid upon my forearm. The bold ink glared back at me, a reminder remain shadowed, clouded me.

I must fight evil with evil.

No matter what.

Even if it means to hurt others, break others bones and spirit, and bleed others and shatter and quieted their cries to death, I must win and survival. After all, wits are essential—no God or Devil will provide me their special wisdom.

Only the nature in this world can be my weapon, my God.

Violence and fear and killings are my Gods, and I used them wisely.

Violence and fear has gotten me into this life so far. I won’t give in. To shatter and slice them, that is my power, my bloodlust. Bloodlust is my knife, my friend, and I show no mercy.

Goodbye, my enemies. It was a pleasure to hurt and cut you into pieces, for a sound of music has been played in my ears with your screaming voices and pleas drawn as your final breath.

The bodies were wasted and ruined, calling Saul on selling organs to the black market online and underground was no longer a valuable option; I desecrated their corpses and stuffed dirt and body bags shoved inside.

The lingering images of their rotting corpse brought my lips to a near smile.

Our little bubble in our own world is unscathed and sheltered, and I’m suffocated in happiness.

Happiness because of a tattered angel trapped and locked into my embrace.

I am unholy, tainted, and I’m no better than a demon spawn—unclean, tainted and broken into madness and rotten to a core.

As long as the dead bodies are disposed, decaying and watering blood into the earth’s ground, nobody would know, the dead keeps their secrets, and I keep mine. The dead soon reincarnated into hideous plants and I flourished my way through tribulations, finding a heavenly light in a tunnel. In the future, no one has to uncover the past. No one would have to know. Not a living soul. Not even my family and friends. Not the judge or the heathens. Not even God and the Devil itself.

The End