Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me… It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.!!. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS!!! LET ME DIE. PLEASE. I BEG YOU. LET ME DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE!! Why can’t I die? WHY CAN’T I DIE? WHY??
A young boy lay on the ground, his face twisted in agony. Blood stained his clothes and dripped from his empty eye sockets, they had been gouged out by those who loathed him. His raw flesh was exposed, his skin had been cut out by blades. His bones jutted out like broken sticks from his emaciated frame. He cried and screamed out for help, but no one would come. Because he was the devil incarnate, nobody would save him.
Soon enough, he stopped crying.
He stared into the blue sky, but it seemed to mock him, laugh at him. The clouds formed shapes of human faces that laughed at him. They pointed at him with scornful fingers. They stared at him with disgust and ridicule.
That burning sensation had come back.
His body hurt all over.
Slowly, his wounds began to heal.
Symbols of wilted flowers appeared on his skin, but as he healed they bloomed once again, returning to their former glory.
Why was I born like this? Why?
The boy lay on the ground, he had begun to cry again.
He had the appearance of a 15-year-old, but he was much older than that. He was an immortal. No matter how much he longed for freedom he could not reach it. He healed from any wound, no matter how deep or serious it was.
Symbols of wilted flowers obscured his skin, they bloomed once he recovered. But he himself could not bloom. He was a cursed child, a taboo, a monster.
Because they couldn’t kill him, they made him their slave. Human? That was not a word to describe him. A devil. A dog. A bitch. A toy. A sex toy. A piece of trash. Hah. All those words described him, except human. They stripped him of his dignity, his identity, his humanity. He no longer resisted. He had endured thousands of years of torture and abuse. He had become a puppet that would willingly obey any command given to him. He would even beg for it.
Although not seen as human, he felt what humans felt. He still felt emotions, emotion, pain was something he felt, he felt love, he felt sadness and he felt anger.
He was still a child mentally, a child that had never grown up. He still remembered his age when he became an immortal: 15 years old. But who cared? They said to him,
“You’re just a dog that we own. You’re a tool for us, our pleasure and our safety. You’re not human. You’re the incarnate of a beast that we have tamed to the point where you have become a dog.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He had accepted it. It was his fate, though he was attention-craved. If someone showed him a faint glimmer of love, he would be tamed. He would give them his submission. He had finally learnt his place in this cruel world: he was a slave forever. But it was fine. It had to be fine. He told himself that every day, but inside he screamed for help.
“Help me! I hate this! I don’t want it!” He prayed to himself.
“Freedom, I long for freedom,” silently he prayed. “I beg you, save me somebody. Please. I beg of you. I beg the gods. Save me! Oh please! I long for it so much! I beg you, the almighty gods, to save me from this curse! Unbind me from my shackles of immortality! Let me experience true love! Let me find someone whom I can love! Give me what I desire! I have put my faith in you, I have loved you! So I beg you to save me from this torture!”
He cried out for freedom inside. He poured his body and soul into his prayers, hoping that some god would hear him and save him from his misery. But who would save a monster? Who would save the devil’s incarnate, who would save a worthless dog? No god felt such pity. Gods were selfish. The only person who would feel pity for him was the true devil. But the devil himself could not save him. Nobody could save the true devil. Either way, nobody would try. Not even his own kind. They were both similar: they were both alone, hated and despised by others including their own flesh and blood.
Everything has a beginning, but some things don’t get an ending.
He was engulfed by darkness, sorrow and pain. That was how he felt - he had no name so he gave himself one: ‘Inei’. It was perfect for someone like him. Someone who would stay alone forever. This was his fate. He didn’t want it but he had to be obedient. He had to or else he would be punished. Abused. Forced to do humiliating things, things he would regret forever. He hated it. So very, very much. But soon he had enough. He had had enough of this abuse.. He had been humiliated enough. He had lost his dignity and humanity but so what!? If he had lost his humanity he would do something inhuman! He had no dignity, so he had nothing to give! He had no regrets! Murder? So what! He didn’t care! He was going to do something, something that he couldn’t take back, he was going to make them all cry and beg for mercy! The gods wouldn’t dare stop him, if the gods could endure the inhuman things that had been done to him then he would do something inhuman as well. He felt a surge of power, it was determination. He was going to find the freedom he longed for, he didn’t need the gods blessings, nor did he need someone. He was going to stay alone. But hey! Fate doesn’t always listen to your requests.
-
The moon was a crimson red; it hung over the night sky emitting a reddish hue. It was as if someone smeared ink across the horizons, creating shapes and patterns of clouds and smoke. Drip, drop. Rain fell from the skies, but it was not water. Blood. That’s what it was, blood which leaked from the eyes of the gods which rested in the now tainted heavens which was once a realm of light and glory. The gods wept, watching the sins of humanity affect the world they bestowed their blessings upon. Their tears were a sign of their upcoming wrath, wanting to bring justice back. They cursed this wretched, unjust world.
The cries and screams of people echoed throughout the air. People ran for their lives, they were stuck in a nightmare. But this was reality, if someone died they would not be coming back.
Standing in the moonlight, his long, black silky hair cascading down his back just like a waterfall. His crimson red eyes glowed just like the moon which watched the chaos under it, he gripped an old sword in his hand. A rare, gorgeous sight he was. He wore a worn out dirty, ripped traditional kimono, cream white and yellow with embroidered flowers. Although it was now stained with red and its colour was lost - if it was still spotless it would look as if it was made for him.
He was a warrior, seeking revenge on those who hurt him. The ones who forced him to suffer for years. Although his face showed nothing, his eyes had a cold, aloof aura emanating from them; no emotion visible on his face, no reaction to the bodies which laid on the cold ground. Blood was splattered on his white, milky skin-coloured face, he stared at the bodies surrounding him. White roses obscured his right eye, they were now stained with red, yet they still had a charm to them, a contrast of beauty and horror.
“Haha… I’ve become a monster, it stains everything. The colour of red. What options do I have left? No matter how hard I’ll try to wash this blood which stains my hands, it will never go. Tormenting me. Cursing me, for eternity. I will stay as a killer for the rest of my life.”
He smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the victim here…” He didn’t understand why he had begun to cry. He had taken his revenge on those who hurt him. He had made them pay for what they did. He should be happy, smiling and cheering. He should be satisfied with what he has done. But he wasn’t. He felt like someone ripped his heart out. He leaned against a tree and sobbed. He wanted to stop crying. He wanted to feel something else. Anything else. But he couldn’t.
He fell to the ground on his knees. His heart ached with sorrow. Why did he feel this way? He didn’t know. He had gotten the freedom he desired. He won. But he felt like he had lost everything. He cried like a child who had lost his parents. But as he cried his eyes out, fate had sent a gift to him. A blessing. The world had changed, and now he would feel a feeling he had never truly felt before.