Lashing out
by Harbinger of Death

Harbinger of Death was furious. People escaping...plotting against him...interfering, in other words. One lousy month out of the year, that’s all he asked for, was 31 days wherein he was in charge of everything and could call the shots. The other 11 months were free reign for the Debs. They could debauch to their hearts’ content, revolt all they wanted, take advantage of anyone in any way they pleased.

But not now. Not now. He was under a great deal of stress from other circumstances not involving the holiday, and he sure didn’t need this. He felt his stomach tighten up and his fists clench. He gritted his teeth and felt as though his eyes could shoot lasers. Sure enough, when he looked in the mirror, they glowed red behind his cowl. Strange...he even looked taller. Bulkier. He needed to kill. Now.

Grabbing his scythe, the Harbinger stalked powerfully toward campus. He happened upon four Debs having a picnic by the pond. Letheia, Orlena, ahnjunae and Paksmrbk looked up as he entered the clearing.

“Oh goody!” Orlena said. “It’s our turn!”

“Wait a minute, I haven’t finished my sandwich,” said Letheia. “I’m hungry.”

“You can’t be hungry when you’re dead,” Paks told her.

“We’re not dead yet,” Letheia pointed out.

“Just wait a minute and let him do his thing,” said ahnjunae. “I’m ready! Wait, but I’m not wearing the outfit I wanted to wear. Can I go change first?”

“Quiet,” HoD growled viciously, and they halted their chatter, startled by his tone. He swooped down upon them and tore at them with his scythe, careful not to kill them right away. Instead he cut them here and there, sometimes shallow, sometimes very deep. They screamed, wanting to run but knowing it was no use, and so they just tried in vain to guard themselves and hide behind each other.

HoD felt good. This slice was for the insolent remark from the holding cell yesterday. That slice was for the smirks on their rotten little faces. And another slice, just because he felt like it.

The four girls finally lay on the grass, cut all over and bleeding profusely, but alive and conscious. They whimpered, as they could do nothing more. He turned to go, to leave them to bleed to death after a few hours of intense pain.

But he paused. He could not punish them for something someone else had done. This was his domain, this was his job, but excessive suffering was never his goal or his intent. He turned back to the girls, and they gazed up at him in fear.

Fear. None of the others had feared him, and sometimes he’d resented it. They respected him, at least some of them, some of the time. But never did they fear him. He found, surprisingly, that he did not like it.

“Forgive me,” he said, and quickly took their souls from their bodies to ease their pain. They sighed as one and gave up the ghost in relief.