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“We should be careful what myths we love and cherish.
Especially when we decided to name our loved ones after them.
For some of them might come true.
And are we truly ready to live the life our namesake had?”
Octavius
Octavius
Thunder booms in the sky, dark clouds gathering right before pouring heavy rain on nature while lightning flashes, casting a temporary light on the darkness around me before everything goes black again. Owls hoot in the distance, hiding in the bushes to avoid the impending storm.
I step barefoot on the terrace, my open shirt flapping backward as the wind whooshes over me, the coldness sinking into my skin, and a grin shapes my mouth at my blood-smeared clothes that remind me about my latest hunt and victory.
For me, murdering a person means peace to a small child somewhere, and what can be more precious than that?
Monsters have different shapes and forms on this earth. We never have a heart, for that would require empathy even to those who don’t deserve it, but we do have different moral codes.
And our moral code defines our victims, or how the law loves to call it…our modus operandi.
I walk farther until finally the raindrops touch me, soaking me instantly from head to toe. I throw my head back as the chaos in my head and soul temporarily settles, silencing the hideous voice playing in my mind repeatedly like a broken record that no one can get rid of.
A worthless piece of shit who is a constant reminder that I failed. Look at me when I speak to you, boy!
My hold on the whiskey bottle tightens, and I flick it open, gulping the alcohol and welcoming the burning sensations in my throat mixing with the salt water, grounding me in the present and pulling me away from a past that should not haunt me.
Yet it does every single time, as there is no reprieve from the madness consuming me and urging me to step over the invisible line and dedicate my entire existence to the darkness that saved me.
Lightning flashes again, followed by a boom, and the rain intensifies. I stay glued to the spot, though, because rain was my beloved weather as a child.
It was the only time I allowed myself to cry and freely express my emotions in a house where the monster ruled, set on tearing my flesh apart bit by bit until nothing was left.
Look at me, boy, and beg. Beg for mercy!
The bottle cracks in my grip, the liquid spilling on my bruised hands while the sharp glass digs into my palm, drawing blood, and a chuckle escapes me.
My body has so many scars. What’s a new one added to the collection?
Compared to my friends, I’m truly a monster on the inside and outside, scaring everyone away with my looks alone, and I guess that’s a gift I should cherish.
I throw the glass on the nearby trash I installed specifically for such occasions and splay my arms, welcoming more blood while a loud roar echoes in the night.
“You’re awake, my friend,” I say, thinking about my pet roaming through the territory and refusing to hide, although I didn’t expect that from him.
We share a lot of qualities, bravery being one of them.
I hear the soft, barely audible sounds from the grass before my huge golden leopard with black spots steps on the terrace, baring his teeth at me while roaring once again, probably wanting to wake the dead since he rarely shows off this much.
His paws are soundless as he prowls toward me, breathing through his nose. His cat eyes are trained on me, and I know he can scent my blood by how his whiskers twitch.
“Easy, Lampos.” I address him by his name so he won’t miss the warning in my tone.
He huffs and comes closer, circling me before playfully rubbing his muzzle against my leg. He stands right in front of me again and jumps up, his paws landing on my shoulders, leaving our faces inches apart.
I palm his broad head and run my thumbs over him, earning myself some purrs, although doing that always inspires rage inside me because scars mar his skin just like mine.
Deep, red painful slashes that affected his eye.
