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there's that fire, again. it's inside my body, and it's burning my bones to get out. i feel them, turning to ash, entering my bloodstream, and poisoning me. how stupid must one be, to poison their own body with a fire they didn't even ignite?
i am stupid, though. clearly, stupid enough for this. this thing, this fire. inside me. my sister always said i'd find that fire one day. i didn't believe her. there wasn't much i was passionate about, back then. i didn't take risks. i didn't do anything.
now, i strangle a man with my gloved hands. his neck is within my palms. i can feel his pulse through the leather. it's fast, frantic. his own, bare, hands clutch at my arms. i can't feel the warmth of his body through my jacket sleeve, but i do see the deep red stains they leave behind. streaks, like a child with their first paint kit. elementary.
i don't look in his eyes, for some reason. maybe it's shame? something akin to it? is it because i refuse to bring my halberd to his head? and why is that, why do i feel the necessity to end his life by my own direct means?
when i do find the courage to look into his eyes, will i see a reflection of myself? or will it just mirror the eyes of the woman i hate the most? in some sick sense of longing and painful desire, i dream of a day in which i strangle kromer to death. it never happened, never will. even in the mirror dungeons, it's not me, it's my identities. so i, of the limbus company bus, have never strangled kromer to death, and will never have the chance to.
i could ask, one day. i could ask dante, say that there's something i need to do. but i'm scared it won't be the same. i'm scared, because the kromer in the mirror dungeon isn't the kromer i knew. it's a recreation, it's a shoddy, half-assed attempt at a reconstruction of her. the whistle she spews isn't even half as piercing. the laugh she cackles isn't nearly as shrill. even her few words sound like they're from a record player. even her demented, sickening transformation isn't as wicked as it should've been.
i can't kill kromer a second time, because normal people don't come back to life.
so i settle for less. a stranger i've never met, who i so violently want to be her that i squeeze his throat a little harder. he's gasping now, turning purple. crying, too. like a wuss. kromer wouldn't cry. she'd just laugh, and laugh, and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh...
i clench my teeth, as that fire threatens to spill past my lips. i, instead, redirect it down to the tips of my fingers. my fingernails are long, too long to be comfortable, but they give me a nasty sense of pleasure when i feel them dig into the tender flesh of the man's neck.
i still don't meet his eyes as they glass over. his hands still, then flop to his sides lamely.
he shouldn't have died so quickly. i, with a sudden rush of fury and flame, snap his neck. it's as messy as i want it to be, with blood squirting out of the holes my fingers bored into him. his body jerks under my knees, so i kick him, even though he's already dead. he shouldn't have died so quickly.
there's no fun in toying with a dead man. i give him one last punch to the face, and grab him by his soiled shirt collar. he's dragged into the mouth of mephistopheles, repurposed into a different kind of fuel.
i can hear my own blood in my ears. it's loud, and i don't like it. my eyes can't focus on any one object, so they skip around. dirt, rock, blood puddle, grass, blood puddle, flesh pile, cracked window, shoe, dirt. i don't try to stop my hands as they flex and crunch back up again.
i wish it were her. i wish it were her. i wish it were her, under my bloodied body, asphyxiating beneath my palms. i wish it were her, so i could finally be like my coworkers and let the past be the past.
but i don't do anything, and i remain stuck back then, with her. so, for the time being, i snuff out the fire in my chest, and kick a rock around until dante calls us back.
i can never get what i want. but i can dream for a while, can't i? i'll let go of the dream one day, but for now, i'll keep it in my pocket, right where that old coin used to sit. it'll be my new coin. a third coin. and until i feel like making a new wish, i'll keep imagining her face on men whom i have to kill. until the fire quells, i'll strangle her to death, over and over and over again.
my lungs hurt, and my body aches. poison is so painful. i can't live on. but i'm revived every time i die, so is it really that big of a deal?
no, no it isn't. and no one has to know, how i swallow ash every waking second, how my dreams are full of torn limbs and melting flesh. as long as she dies in the end. as long as she dies.