The Assassin's Love

 Satan is the true king of heaven. But that whole system is messed up; can you really sort people into good or bad? Nobody’s perfect, who’s to say nothing bad will happen when you put human essence into heaven? The only way to guarantee that would be to take away our choice to do evil, which if you’ll recall, was Satan’s idea to begin with.    In my opinion, there’s life and there’s death. God does life, Satan does death. Simple. But why is Hell bad? Is it God’s wrath at Satan for defying him, or is it us humans afraid of being trapped, of being nothing?    One way to find out. I’ll do that soon. As soon as it turns on, I turn off; that’s any second now.    Before that… Let’s explore another opinionated, undecidable myth. Good and bad.    To do that, we go look at the rest of my life. Not this single moment before death; who can judge from that viewpoint? There’s either pity or vengeance at death, no way to judge. We’re going back.  ✁ - - - - - - - - - -   *Three years ago*   Don’t move. Don’t move. My back was a board, feet and hands lumps of ice, my mind a broken record. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.    The feet paced in front of me. Beaten brown leather, rusty buckles, each thumping step making my heart pound. The air smelled of puke and alcohol, occasional sobs hanging in the already stuffed spaces between bodies and walls. Amidst the chanting of don’t move don’t move don’t move, I inwardly screamed at him to stop crying. It wouldn’t help, nothing helps.    The feet stopped, my heart stopping with them. They stopped in front of him, silence and tension hung heavy, I couldn’t seem to breathe.    “Get up.” I tried not to shiver as the deep, angry voice resounded in the room. Bad. Bad, bad bad bad.    He didn’t move. I risked a glance, at the boy staring wide-eyed into the man’s face. Tears on his cheeks, lip trembling. Get up get up get up! Anger flared in the man’s brown eyes as he repeated his previous statement.    The statue of a woman moved, standing up. “Stop. He’s three.”    I squeezed my eyes shut before the crash. Hand to head. Head to a wall. I could see it in my mind.    “Shut up!” There was a muffled thud. I kept my eyes closed. “Get up you little…” I snapped my eyes open, sensing what was coming, dread and need motivating me and risking my life. A bottle shattered, screams erupted, red mixing with shards of glass glinted in my vision.    I forced my legs to move, running for the door, praying I could only make it before he caught me…