Thy forest shone brightly now drenched in moonlight whilst thy sun slips away beneath the horizon line. Almost as if it were tucking itself into bed. Moi?
I am currently chasing the peasant girl who thought she could outrun death. How pitiful. I pick the child up and easily fling her at a stack of crudely cut logs. The girl cried as this happened – though, the sound was mostly chocked off as I tightened my fist, holding her there, slowly crushing her windpipe. It gave me an unexpected joy to see the vermin suffer, her gasps for breath and desperate pleads barely above a whisper. I hold her high above the ground and raise thy hand in preparation
-.
I know what is happening, anticipate the blow. Why had I even tried to run? I curl up and cover my face as he begins to strike. One. Two. Three. Four. He soon grows tired of that and tosses me aside like a sack of potatoes, I look up at the sky- stars littered like freckles on an innocent face. Why couldn't that be me? I look over at my master, Arthur Barrow, as he grabs something I can't quite see. He turns to me and speaks. "3000 matches a day. That is your job. Today you made only 1000. If you want me to pay you, vermin, do your job!" He shouted the last part. He took the object he had grabbed before, it was a handful of matchsticks, he then lit one on the side of his shoe, illuminating his crooked grin plastered on his crooked face.
-
The child lay on thy ground. Sore, bleeding and grovelling at thy feet; shrieking loudly into the night. I light a match and tenderly flick it at the unsuspecting child, creating an intricate scar decorating their flesh in the most exquisite colour, I repeat this action, painting a masterpiece on her scrawny skin. I suddenly felt a twinge of joy in the pit of my stomach as I watch the child laying helplessly. "Goodnight vermin." I say prodding the withered body with the toe of my boot. "And just remember, who lives by thy sword, dies by thy sword." I light one final match.
-
As my life slips through his fingers, I felt nothing. Now empty. What had been me: green eyes, a dimpled smile, the shacking, crippled hands of a factory worker- is quickly turns to dust. The match slowly burns itself out, creating texture in my once smooth skin. I wonder what my mother would say if she could see me now. Would she care that I wasn't there anymore? Would she notice? Or am I just as extendable as my siblings before me? He creeps towards the shell of my body, shadowing the moonbeams from my new scars... my final scars.
ns 18.68.41.177da2
