I was left confused, sick and fearful.

Whatever it was that overcame me in the spur of the moment, it scurried away just as all the build up adrenaline receeded into the depths of my body.

And I started retching, violently spewing torrents of acidic gastric juices.

If it hadn't been for the lush vegetation offering up ample support I would be lying in the cold, hard dirt, probably looking down on my hands drenched, nay, soaked, in hot blood.

My stomach continued to churn as the same question wuthered through my head, like a peal of thunder it crashed through my sanity.

'YOU. JUST. KILLED. SOMEBODY!'

Each word echoed on perennially, abiding by a vow to forever keep this experience as a remembrance to be deeply anchored in my psyche.

Bile rose and climbed up my throat, foaming out from between my fingers. And then came the pangs of guilt wrecking me, flaying me alive.

Couldn't I have knocked them out? I could, couldn't I?

But why, why did I truly want to kill at that moment? I had this insane thirst for blood, I awaited eagerly for carnage, though that could have never been me.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

I have no death wish and neither do I wish it upon others, never did in fact! Nonetheless, in that particular situation, as the scene re-played itself hundred times over in my head, I truly hungered for bloody vengeance.

'Inhuman...', Is all I could tell myself. This was simply not normal! I had to be crazy! Mad! Lunatic!

I wanted to die. Being a monster out to kill and hunt, better finish myself off now. Would I even still be the same after this is all over? I couldn't tell.

S̝͎͚̰͚o̱͓̮͖͎̤ ͔̺̥͝ẉ̡͍̮̈́̔̎ͮ̋h̸͎̺̰͚̤̉̎͒͋̃̔͒A̡̙͉̭̟̫̩̖ͣt̶̜̙͇ͭ̃ͨ̀ͥ?̡!̗ͦ͋̄ͪ͡

But what answered the tempesting turmoil in my heart was a dismal whisper, a devil beckoning.

***

Sylvia woke up with a start, the smell of putrid blood, maybe even feces, hung thick in the air and haunted even her dreamless sleep.

She exhaled a stale but quiet breath, lying low and anticipating a sudden ambush, her nerves still frayed. As she found herself alone, with no signs of life surrounding her, no spectres or bandits in the vicinity, she bolted up.

Hurried hands felt for wounds, for bruises or the like, but she found nothing. Not even a scratch remaining and her skin unblemished, maybe even glossier than before.

And then she remembered. The ghoulish figure, a man of shadows, tearing those savage bandits apart like wet paper. And the blood, a shower of sanguine; and the smell, a smell of incinerated flesh and molten metal, burnt hair and sizzling flesh.

From the corner of her eyes she could still see the grotesque remains of her pursuers, now morphed into a macabre picture of brutality, but she choose not to dwell on it. She had seen such scenes before -though rarely worse- and she became jaded against it.

'I am alive...'

That is all that mattered to Sylvia, to take a few breaths more and be blessed by life. She would take revenge into her own hands, become a vindictive shrike that will hound after those that betrayed her, and then she would thank her benefactor, the person that safed her and spared her a life of misery or a lonesome death.

Glad, Sylvia felt truly glad to be alive and with a plaintive smile and heavy heart she mentally saw off those that protected her, at the cost of their lives. Their families had to be informed and reimbursed, which was just one of the many tasks she had to do.

So she beared her body erectly, stood tall and took heart.

After a few unsteady steps her gait turned more resolute, her back petite yet broad, shouldering burdens of sheer magnitude; her eyes aflame like golden prominence.