"The bloodlust and guilt did not clash well, and made him delirious.
Such was his delirium, almost a drunken stupor. And in this stupor he made his
way home, down that one road. Had this been another time of the day, it would
have been a massacre for the people who crossed his paths. But this was 3 in
the morning, and everyone was sound asleep. As he walked, he periodically
licked the red iron liquid on his lips as a reminder of what he had done. And
then he would start crying, because his conscience would come rushing down to
punch him in the gut.
It wasn’t far anymore, he
saw the gleam of the golden gates as they reflected the light of a dying
lamppost. All he needed to do was to open the gates and walk right in, leaving
the horrors of that night behind him. And as he approached it, he felt the
convulsion in his stomach, and felt a sharp pain in his chest. He felt the
familiar sting of magic, and its unfamiliar purpose of control. In the road, a
few steps behind the exit/welcome sign stood a man. Was he the source of the
sting? And Why now? Why right now? The pain hit him like a jolt, knocking him
back. He saw his hands move, involuntarily, and his legs welcomed this unknown
forced that began moving him toward this man.
He felt it again, the
wrenching pain of the teeth beginning to protrude the gums. The guilt was also
slowly dissipating, as he began to give in to his anger and bloodlust. If there
was two things he valued the most, it would be his freedom, and those Louis
Voitton shoes he had in his closet, and right now his freedom was in jeopardy.
In this anger, he regained control of his body and with his left leg he stomped
to the ground so hard that his foot got buried in the concrete. "
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