I am dead inside
I envisioned cradling my mother’s body as she died. My heart was filled to the brim with regret since she died without any of us by her side. The monsters that prowled the night as well as the day took my mother from me. I vowed as a man, human and hunter I would rid the world of the plague the Guardians knew as the Strangelings. Life filled my soul and travelled to my limbs and escaped through my smile. But now the reaper was my shadow. Many have died by my hand. My heart knew no joy or misery. My innards have been carved out leaving an empty shell. “Who would love me?” I was loved once. In the beginning, love blossomed and happiness was infinite. But when death came for my mother I no longer had time to entertain the trivial matters of love. Rage consumed my thoughts, revenge filled my heart and wrath tainted my spirit. “Am I any better than the things I hunt?” Although I have shoved love aside, it stalked me like a hunter would stalk its prey. Whether night or day, snow or rain, the memories of what it was to love would find me. I was lost on the path called revenge. Anger pulled the strings of the limbs that wielded the weapons. The blood of the enemy covered my hands and stained my core but concern was absent since what I needed was irrelevant. My mother was dead and my father was absent. I had no one. All I needed was me. My resolve was tested many times but I remained true to the mission until Abrianna. The light from her soul beamed when she smiled, her voice calmed the ravenous seas of hate and her touch warmed a heart encased in stone. Maybe just maybe she will help me find my way.
When it is discovered that Abrianna, an Amalgam, survived the mass cleansing orchestrated by Destiny, her life becomes less than desirable since her only options are to be controlled or die.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I was born in Mandeville, Manchester, Jamaica. I moved to Canada eleven years ago. I discovered writing when I was eleven. However, I was unable to pursue it since I resided in a country where writing was impractical. I rediscovered the art my third year at York University. Kinesiology, the program I was enrolled in, was no longer simulating and I found myself questioning my purpose in life. This led me to poetry and poetry led me to writing novels.