Fated

A hallow night, brought upon a fortnight, dark clouds spread across the vellum of the sky. Grim reapers cry from the heavens above as they sear into the events of revelry down below. The rain falls to the earth, swords of piercing liquid, doomed to die, corroding all. A cleansing for the Mother Earth or a destroyer for the living seems to be their destiny. The ground stained crimson, profuse from the beaten and battered skull of the God of the Mind. Standing above him, looking down upon his wounds, his red badges of rage kept fresh by the severed and wet flesh of the God of the Mind, is the King of Vulgar Extreme. Vulgarity gives him to the sense that he is invincible, or invisible. Probably a little bit of both; invisible believing that the one almighty cannot see his sins, or invincible believing he can escape the Almighty’s all-seeing eyes. He has become an agnostic and the only true proof of anything real is the pain he feels. The pain we all feel. It is the only true reminder that we are alive, that we all can feel, that we all are here, living ants of the world. No one is better than the one next in line as well as the one before. An audience is there to prevent mistaken information, and the escaping of truth. Justification was the only ideal worth protecting for people wanted to prove to everyone what they felt was real when he knew it is not. In this moment, what the King of Vulgar Extreme felt was real, but insecurity has forsaken his mind that the truth was something manipulated.

Jan-Michael stood above surrounded by puddles of the piercing needles from the heavens, with no emotion in his features but eyes of pure intense rage and satisfaction. The puddles of water were dyed with oxygenation by the blood of his older brother Avian, whose fresh wounds sunk in deep into his cranium, into his torso, from a fight that would be written in the Final Judgment to be an ultimate sin between brothers. As Jan-Michael looked down onto the sprawled and flailed body of the motionless and semi-dead brother, his features started to change, for the intensity of rage in his eyes was greeted by the sadistic white shining of his smile, an angry smile, a sadist’s smile which showed a pure satisfaction of hatred and anger deep within his soul. Something that he would need to control, for right now it consumed him. A sense of accomplishment came over him as he gripped the steel chair in his right hand, which was rich with his brothers blood, his own blood, all contorted and bent around to form the painful expressions from the impact of Avian’s skull upon it. If this was a victory, it came with a price, for his right arm was hurting, he was bleeding from his right eye, his good eye. He was bleeding out of his mouth and his lips were cut open from his canines. His best shirt was torn and pricked and soaked in blood. His left knee was injured from a vicious blow to the back of his kneecap. What was more ironic was the fact most of those injuries were self-inflicted during this one vicious battle.

“I am better than you fucker!”

Avian looked up into the eyes of his younger and supposedly weaker brother. He saw what he had done, turning his brother into someone with no respect for the living, a demon inside, a monster to a society that would not accept him, exactly how they did not accept his attitude, his mental manipulation. He feels for what he has sown. He planted the seed of anger and hatred into his own younger brother, something he wanted to there but now seeing that it was a mistake to give an uncontrollable power to a boy who had the makings of a wild beast, or a god.

“You aren’t any better than you believe yourself to be.”

“No brother! I am better than you because I am!”

That was a vicious slap of Avian’s past right into his bloodied face. When he became manipulative, and good at it, he was able to make people see things the way he wanted them to see. It became an obsession and it took over his mind. As the times of his life passed, it became necessary to manipulate on a normal basis, an illicit drug for his mentality and his social life. He became so good at manipulation and conniving acts that he actually manipulated himself.

“I made a monster. I never thought I would live to see the day when you became stronger than me. I thought you….”

“You taught me everything that I am supposed to know. You hated me for what I am. Now I am something you like. Face it my piece of shit brother. You love me more now than you ever will!”

“I never thought it would be any other way.”

“Maybe so, but you’ll live long enough to feel that this steel chair is still usable on your piece-of-shit skull you pig fuck!

Jan-Michael held the chair above his head, as the lightning did its dance in the background singing to him to finish what he started. This was a chance to become better. To be the best of all of his family who were shunned. This was his chance to become the leader, a master of his own destiny. Fate is unchangeable and if he had a view of his fate at the time, then fate has designed that he would kill his older brother. Ending the master and the slave would become the ruling dictator of a nation of manipulated. It was a rewarding feeling, a negative yet rewarding feeling to know he accomplished what many others had not been able to do. Finally to destroy the one person in whom manipulation was a lifestyle of control and a need to live. A lifestyle in which many people had fallen in their intricate web of pathologic truth and real lies. For once, Jan-Michael felt proud, felt godly to take a life or in the matters of taking one right before him. He hoped that everyone would see, for this was a crowning achievement, a crown of thorns would sit perfectly upon his head and his chest would swell with pride and sadism.

He thought of all he lost, all the times he could have been happy. He thought of his beloved Jennica, for how happy they could have been and how it was his fault for her untimely exit out of this world. How he longed for something of material, which should have been taken later rather than sooner, over the caring love of a girl who saw past his destructive exterior. He thought of his best friend since grade school when he first met her. A uniquely weird name for such a beautiful girl with such a beautiful soul. A beautiful soul is the price paid from learning and having the suffering of stress in her early childhood from a mother who was never there exactly. Growing up was something most humans do when they turn twenty-one, for stupidity is something that seems to go around for it is a disease. In this moment, it is to be ignorant than to be stupid, for ignorance is curable but stupidity is terminal but in this situation, ignorance would be stupid if acted upon. The lightning danced more, forcing him, calling him, wanting him, seducing him, to finish what he had started. Finish the one task, taking care of the one person who was mentally in his way. One final swing, one sonic boom for the little living life between the point of origin to the contact, in this moment in space and time, that would be the chair above Jan-Michael’s head and Avian’s cranium lying in writhing pain in a pool of its own red badges of rage. People cry crimson tears as well as invisible ones.