Stained

Scars

“War does not determine who is right - only who is left.”

-Bertrand Russell

            I pushed the key into the door and walked into the large, empty house.

            “Honey, I’m home.” I said loudly, letting my voice carry throughout the silent house.

            No response, but then again, I didn’t really expect one.

            I walked down the hall and into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked back out to the living room to see a woman with short black hair and a full arm tattoo standing there. I walked over to her and pulled her into my arms. “Nic.” I breathed as I let my cheek rest against her head. I closed my eyes and held her even tighter against me. “What’s going on?” I kept my voice low, as if I were afraid of something.

            She pushed me away and shook her head. “How can you think that I killed Henry? You were there with me through everything Erik. Everything. And now you want me dead? Do you understand what I’ve had to go through? I thought we were friends and here you are, trying to kill me! I thought I could trust you. I thought you trusted me!”

            “Nic, you don’t understand! I thought that—” I tried to grab her arm but she shook me off.

            “That I killed your dad?” Nic finished for me with venom in her voice, as if she was daring me to argue.

            “Yes, but—” I started frantically, trying to explain myself.

            “No, Erik, you can’t just take that back. Don’t try and tell me that you didn’t mean it.” She hissed.

            “Nic—” I was practically begging now.

            “Don’t you dare use that name, Erik, that is something that only people who I can trust use. You can call me Stained Number 14 since I’m obviously just another monster to you. Another product to be sold and used at your will. Do you remember how much you hated anyone who thought that? Do you remember how you argued with Henry about it? I thought you saw me as a person Erik! Not a weapon or product. But then again, everyone’s wrong sometimes.”

            “Please, forgive me Nic. I’m sorry! I take it back!” I fell to my knees and looked up at her, but she didn’t look like I thought she would. She looked disgusted by me.

            She curled her lip and I saw hatred in her eyes as she said, “No.” She brought her hand up and held it, palm out, in front of my face. I felt my stomach sink as I realized what was going to happen.

            “Please.” I whispered weakly even though I knew I couldn’t change her mind. There was a bright flash of orange red light and an intense heat washed over me.

            I sat up, gasping for breath and clutching my chest in pain. I let out a shaky breath and blinked away the spots in my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair that was damp with sweat and tried to push away the nightmare as I slid my feet into my old slippers beside the bed.

            I slid my feet into the mouths of the zombies that made my house shoes and pressed a cold hand against my forehead which felt like it was on fire. After a few minutes of just sitting there I stood up and shoved my hands into my sweatpants’ pockets and walked downstairs.

            I found the light switch and turned on the overhead light and walked into the kitchen. I immediately grabbed a beer from the stainless steel fridge and walked back out into the living room as I twisted the cap off and tossed the small piece of metal into the recycling.