Everything is silent. Darkness hangs onto the child, keeping its cold, suffocating hold on him.
It grips his hands. The blood never truly washes off, does it?
"It's just a dream.” the boy says, running to find a source of light. But it doesn't stop.
At every corner of light, it continues to show him
The targets- No, the victims.
The names.
The faces- the cries- The terror.
It's never-ending, reminding him of just how much death weighs him down.
All the while, the darkness spreads on the boy. Covering what was pure white with a dark, dripping red.
How could someone with so much red deserve anything in this life but a cold grave?
"I don't. It's the only ending I deserve." The words don't come out of his mouth, but his voice nonetheless.
The teen looks up with blood-red tears in his eyes. He wonders how it got this far. How his survival led to so much suffering.
A new knife is in his hands. A new name is on his list.
The conscience that begs him to stop must be silenced. But the screaming will never stop.
From others.
From himself.
Staring at the new, sharp blade, The man knows what he must do. The only way to truly help the world from evil. He turns the knife towards himself, aimed directly at his core. A quick death is more than he deserves, this is right. In a flash, the blade goes down, aiming for his own body.
. . .
Eyes wide, a short shout escapes his lips as Marius jolts awake; his panicked breath matches the racing of his heart.
"It was just a dream... Just a dream..." He reassures himself over again until his voice gives way. "Look at your hands. They aren't stained. You aren't stained.”
Slowly, Marius extends his hands, still shaking from the fear coursing through his veins.
But they aren't clean. The skin is drenched in the viscous liquid, dripping onto the covers below.
"No... No no no..." Stifling a sob, Marius retracts his hands and violently glides them through his hair, gripping at each strand. He pulls his knees to his face and knocks his head with his fists repetitively, almost as if he can remove these thoughts if he hits himself enough times.
"They're clean. You know they are. You know."
It takes him time before he dares to look again. But, just like before, he holds them out in front of himself.
They are clean, other than the strands of his hair that clings to his sweat. He nods as if he isn't sure unless he proves it to himself. It is strange that only after he started to fix his life have these horrid dreams come so often.
He tries to tell himself it's not true. That he deserves redemption. But what was he doing here, just what was his job?
It wasn't murder, just surveillance for him, but his report would determine this man's life. And if they choose to dispose of him, wouldn't that also be his fault.
"It is, and you know it. Who knows, you might be the one they chose to finish the job.”
He waves his hand in front of his face, trying to brush away the imaginary voice in his mind. It never does any good, though. His thoughts never cease, only getting louder and louder as time goes on.
Marius tucks his legs into his body and buries his head, letting a sob escape once more. He wishes, more than anything, that he can get out and leave this place responsible for so much pain and suffering. That these dreams would finally stop.
He begs and pleads to himself, but nothing ever changes.
Just him.
In this room.
No one hears his cries. . . . Only him.
In this nightmare.
Until he dies.
