The world around him was a blur as he fled from them, as if he was looking at a canvas splashed with random colors through teary eyes. Their footsteps were nearing and he almost gave up. If he did not get back then he would end up being just another one felled by them, another damned fool who couldn’t survive the onslaught of the self-proclaimed mightiest creatures, a forgotten warrior. He scoffed mentally and powered by adrenalin dashed on. Slowly the noises chasing him faded away into the distance.
They had done everything to defeat and destroy his kind. They had created weapons that glowed bright and made him sick. But his kind had endured and every time they became immune, new devious devices of murder were devised. His enemies were lightning quick and he knew of many warriors, friends, beings he respected who had fallen to their guile. There were tales of the bravest of his kind being tortured and toyed with before being murdered and of a deadly weapon which came with an electric blue buzz and took your soul with it. Where do these tales come from he wondered because as far as he knew no one who had been caught alive had escaped death.
He was safe now and he knew. He was breathing heavily. The magnitude of what he had done struck him now and he smiled as he splashed water on his face. The years of war with them had taken his toll on him. His once handsome face was now marred with bruises. He knew that his time to stop and stay away from all this violence had come, the time to watch the young battle on from the sidelines. But he would do it again, one last time, he promised himself and for the first time in all these years he knew who his victim would be.
His tribe had now scented his arrival and the children were milling about. They looked at him with reverent admiration. He was their hero. The warrior who hadn’t fallen. He took out his weapon and cleaned the blood off. It gleamed as the first light of the day trickled in through the treetops. The crowd cheered and parted as he walked towards the chief’s house. He was sure that the chief would respect his decision to quit. He looked longingly at the blade that had stood by him so long. It would draw blood one last time tonight. He would now catch a few hours of sleep and stealthily shadow his victim.
He watched from the tree cover and saw her. He hated their kind but there was no denying the fact that she was beautiful. Her chiseled face almost perfectly matched her slim physique. Her turquoise-blue eyes twinkled as she smiled. Her dark blonde wavy hair, untied, danced magnificently as she walked gracefully. The walk of a ballerina. She would be any artist’s dream he thought as he stayed close. Her only flaw was that she was the princess of the land of his foes and she would pay for that. An evil smile flickered across his face as he picturized the act he was about to commit. She would pay in blood, no they would pay in blood, he whispered to himself. He found her quarters and walked back. A quick sleep was now in order. He would wait for the light to fade.
As night fell he steeled himself. This would be his best strike, his swansong, his masterpiece. He emptied the glass of Jack Daniels and walked into the night. It was a full moon. The shadows of trees created menacing shadows on the walls as he climbed easily. The guards hadn’t seen him and he would make sure they would not. He entered her room easily through the window. He drew his weapon and walked to her bed. Beads of sweat lined his face as he saw her face. The monster in him was now alive. The monster that had slain so many that he sometimes lost count. He had victimized women, children, even babies without mercy. His face was now close to hers, his ugly breath fondled her hair which flew as if in fear. The misty moonlight trickling in through the window made his weapon gleam and filled the room with a gloomy glow. Nature was silent as if awaiting the death of a beloved creature. The air was electric and made her hair stand on ends. She murmured something as she rolled to a side, half asleep. He took one last longing look at her and breathlessly raised his weapon.
Time stood still, afraid to move. She woke up and rolled as he struck, his eyes were bloodshot, everything had gone wrong. His weapon was awash with blood, his own blood. He was crushed. This was bad and he knew it. There would be no getting out of this alive. He buzzed about and tried to fly away but he couldn’t. He had failed. He had ended up dead. Just another dead mosquito who would be missed for a day or two. His wings could flutter no more and he hit the ground and slowly his grip on his beloved blade loosened. The mosquito coil let off incessant flames that would no longer make him cough.