Forum Curses Entr'acte. Chapter 4: The Failings of a Failure

Forum Curses Entr’acte: Who Am I?

Chapter 4: The Failings of a Failure

It’s all my own fault.
This cursed guilt which I had ignored for three years is weighing down on my shoulders. Not as if it was heavy, but as if it had more significance than I could ever bear.

The actual crime wasn’t the issue for me, but instead the realisation that I had done something which, although I don’t know how, was more important to the future of everything than I could comprehend. And it was all to do with that girl.

The damn curse of this guilt.
The philosophy of nihilism believes in the meaningless of life, and could be traced back to Russian revolutionists in the nineteenth century, who had all sorts of plans and revolutions against the Tsar - that was no matter. However, at this point I’d rather that life was meaningless, instead of what I did being so much of an issue.

I didn’t care back then. I didn’t even consider what effect it would have on her.

A large knife, one which I stole from the kitchen, was my tool of choice. The nervousness that came with the night was nowhere near what I should have felt as I crept up behind that house. The door was left unlocked. My breath hitched, and I stepped into another world.

The house was quiet, not silent. Taking the knife into my hand, walking slowly throughout her house. Nobody was in the living room, they must have already retired to bed. That meant the perilous ascent up the stairs.
Step one. My foot firmly in its hold, and my hand reaching out above, silently.
Step two. The face of this cliff still held as I clutched onto it.
Step three. A creak, unnecessary sound, causing my heart to race as if someone could have heard.
Step four. Nothing.
Step five, six, seven.
Step eight and my foot was on the summit.
Three doors surrounded me, one to the left and two to the right. Gently touching my hand against it, I opened the left door slightly ajar. She slept there soundly, hair soft and eyelids softer. The first door on the right opened to a larger room. It was simply furnished, with a mirror and a chest of drawers either side of a large, king sized bed where two people slept. Silent.
The blade hovered over the neck of the woman, unaware of this.

Hesitation? I would never.

Blood spurted over the knife and my hand, staining the sleeve of my arm in seconds.
Then I felt the hesitation, the sickness. The freedom it gave me.

About to do the same to the man, I laughed in my head. This was fun.
His arm sprung out, a crushing grip over my hand.

The man opened his eyes wide, adrenaline in his veins.
He stood up, still pressing my hand with a scary force.
Twice my height, five times my weight, a behemoth of a person - her father. He threw me across the room like nothing, only hesitating slightly as if he noticed my age, blinking with no remorse as he was reminded of his wife’s blood.
The blade sliced through the air, dragging the gore along with it, missing entirely. I stumbled out of the room and descended the stairs, back towards the door that was left unlocked.

A force hit the back of my neck, shards of glass raining down, exhaustion ran along the edge of consciousness. The remains of the bottle were sharp in his hands.

With the last of my energy, I lunged towards him, the blade finding flesh. My eyes closed, stumbling. My hands wrapped around a warm arm, somewhere.
The exhaustion fell into unconsciousness, where time passed both long enough and in no time at all.
Numbers flashed behind my eyes - of some significance but not enough to be remembered.
Eventually they opened to the sound of tears.
She clutched onto my arm, crying. Seeing me awake, she cried some more.

I picked myself up, regained the awareness of my surroundings that I should have always had. Blood covered me and her - blood of three people.
The knife was on the floor, near the body.
She said nothing, only hit me in the stomach. I stumbled and picked up the knife.
“Serena. I did it.”
She ran forwards, unaware or uncaring of the danger, trying to harm me as much as possible.

I moved the knife away.
“Serena. You can come with me. We can do whatever, we’re free like you said you-”

A tear fell onto my hand.
I stabbed with the knife, cutting through the side of her body like paper. More blood covered me.
“Serena. Please listen. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I slashed as she tried to stand up. She looked so small, weak, bleeding on the floor. Her clothes ripped, her eyes dull, her skin pale.

I turned, and I ran. Ran like I never had before, outside, through the grass behind her house. Blood stained clothes. I left the knife. I never looked back.

And only today did I return to the Eleventh. The park where I used to sit with her years ago.
Night was coming.
The morality and the law didn’t have the meaning it intended to: Guilt? Yes, but not for the fact I did something wrong, but instead guilt for leaving her with nothing. Over judging what she wanted for ‘freedom’ and the feeling of regret for what had not happened yet.

Whatever was going to happen, clearly was taking its time. The extreme paranoia for this had washed over him early that morning, and nothing had happened yet, but it would. Nobody would suddenly endure this much guilt and impending change without some cruel and intentional force behind it. Please universe.

I remember when I first met her. Young and stupid, aged only thirteen. We had been friends.
Me, her, Troy. What fun we had.
One evening, in the summer we were sitting together, alone to all but us two.
And I made the biggest mistake of my life.
I touched her hand, and she touched mine, which fell into the stupid and naive spiral of young teenage love.
I’d say I hope she’s doing better now, but the feeling that she has something to do with what’s going to happen won’t leave.

I take it back - I didn’t over judge what she wanted. No, that makes it sound like it was her fault. It was all mine, the taste of freedom. To be able to snap any life out as if I had the control - I must not have been the only person to do this, but guilty I was.

Darkness has settled. The park was silent, deep shadows casted from the lamppost over a small children’s play area, where paint peeled off the climbing frames.
Sitting down on a bench with a sigh, I’m noticing somebody in the distance, walking over the grass in a quick stride.

They wouldn’t recognise me? I disappeared, the police announced my death years ago.
I should be safe, but I don’t want to sit still.
So I stand up, turn away. Start walking.

I don’t look back, I just hope they won’t follow.

A heavy object hit my back, glass shards cutting into me, blood. A cold liquid soaked into my jacket.

I recognised that voice. It was faintly comforting in its anger.
“Morock! I’ve found you.”

“How the hell…” A wave of exhaustion passed over me.

It laughed, face covered with a hood, eyes beyond my sight. “Morock. I had thought you were dead. But no, you live…”
A small gasp, a muffled sob came from the figure. “I’ve seen the scars you left her with. I’ve seen how she still struggles. It’s all your fault.”

“How did you find me. Who are you?”
“Idiot. The Cursesmith told me. It told me everything you did, where you were. It told me how I could fix your mistakes.”

“Who… Who’s the Cursesmith? What are you on about?”
My vision blurred over, I could barely see who I was talking to.

“The one who will turn our deepest fears and our deepest desires into our deepest strengths.”

It lunged forwards, I only barely avoided it, I turned around to face my attacker, finding nobody there. A foot made contact with my back, sending me to the ground.
“How does it feel, Morock? How does it feel?

I tried to run, only stumbling, tripping, falling. It hit me in the back of the neck with something heavy, and I collapsed.
It held a sword in its hand, crouching over me.
I was upside down, falling through my own mind. Numbers flashed behind my eyes - split apart and jumbled up. Important numbers. As if they were trying to give me a message… 6463846255258385…
Blood pulsed in my ears. The thing which laughed as it sliced its blade through the air dramatically, whispering in my ear. “Oh Morock… I shouldn’t have waited so long for this.”
Torture. At this point I’m just waiting for death. At least that would be less torturous.
“Please… just kill me already.”
A second voice spoke from someone who I wasn’t previously aware was there.
“Do it. Watch what havoc the sword can wreak. You can save-”
“I know, I know. Killing him now is no fun. I’d rather let him suffer for what he did to me, for what he did to -”
Nobody was there. The last few numbers faded from my mind.

It took me a few minutes before I could stand up. My body was stiff, bloody, cold.
The park was empty, glass shards of a bottle on the ground - along with a label: ethanol.

A metal structure in the play-area was between him and the path away from this damn place, to somewhere - he didn’t know. Just hopefully safer than here. His attacker was not in sight, hopefully long gone. Hopefully he just overestimated how bad things could be. Hopefully-

Turning a corner to pass the bulk of the structure, a smile stood in front of him.
A cruel smile of an innocent boy, standing there - sword in hand.

UNRECOGNISED ERROR – Program Termination due to unknown reasons.
Flag/ln302+/-2 Unexpected Crash

She sat alone, looking at her phone as if a reply would come any second. Two large scars - one that cut cleanly across her side, and another jagged one, slicing upwards across her abdomen.

They burned with cruelty and uncaring, not as if it only hurt, but with pure cruel fiery intent.
Tears streamed down her eyes, sleep never came.


bro what

hi sank 1

no murder to see here