He woke up one day, like any other day. Turned on the radio and waited for the always-present news of his one-man hunt. He had been turning live beauties into hanging dead stacks of meat; it was plenty fun, the feel of blood combined with the dripping of tears was an amusing job that took all day to do. He liked to hang them with his favorite knot; he liked to swing them, gagging from the neck, while he was raping them. The smell of the resulting pulp seem to always have his alcoholic smell and of whatever girl he slashed up... it was probably the only way he knew how to connect with them, how to join together his and their essence.
You can't really say he was doing this out of ignorance of morality: he knew it was wrong. He was aware of the pain of not only what he did to them while they were alive, but also the shame produced of whatever he did to them after they stopped breathing. He was evil and he knew it; it was liberating, it was fun. The sensation he felt when he heard on the radio that he was now the most-wanted man in the country gave him a hard-on that signaled him what he needed to take care of... again. "A never-ending cycle, I kill and they celebrate it as if they want me to do it again... morons, beautiful morons."
He stepped outside and began wondering as he'd always done years before. He's surprisingly patient, as this is the foreplay of his endeavor. He was putting his hand in his pocket to stroke himself, to maintain his erection, when she caught his eye. "Next meal up ahead", he moaned to himself. He followed her with a difficult step, ironically caused by his earlier stroking; he was accustomed to it by then. He took her hand from behind when they were passing through a dark alley, making her scream slightly before his other hand covered her mouth. A passer-byer heard it and recognized his face from the profile paintings uptown.
He began undressing her from behind, feeling her smooth body and soft breasts. He turned her around and... her eyes... his eyes... the similarity was unignorable. He had done this for so long, he remembered that at first he didn't killed them -he wanted them to tell the tale- and this girl was right about the same age as he had begun... could it be? Could she be the fruit of his loins?
She, half-naked, did not scream as she understood what was going through his head. She touched his cheak, producing a calm in him never before felt. "She can't be... she's... too beautiful", his legs started to numb up, "I couldn't have created something this... angelic." His reputation as a demon, as a diabolical being, was beginning to shiver away from himself. The girl began to dress up, and he, without recognizing it, without believing it, stood there letting it happen.
"There he is", whispered one police officer to another. "Do we shoot? The girl's there, we could harm her." "Doesn't matter. The chief has given clearance to shoot to kill, no matter what." "Yes, sir... Ok... SHOOT!"
A hive of bullets began flying towards the couple. He grabbed her, and for the first time... for the last time he hugged her... protecting her.
Him... protecting... who was he becoming?
She embraced her father and cuddled in the rain of lead. He felt a joy that overcomed him more so than any of his killings... so more, that he began crying, completely forgetting the pain of the bee stings in his back.
The storm drained and both fell to the ground... she layed there with the dead stack of meat smelling of her and him, and she smiled... his father swan song was as beautiful as she was.
The divine jury had him in court for a millennium, not knowing what to do with him. He hadn't repented, he was a killer, he was evil... but you can't ignore that last act, that last do of his good will, if there was any. He couldn't speak for himself in the hearing, and if even he could, he wouldn't had done so... Finally, the judge came out: "We have here our statement: you shall go back, and show us what you have become. Another judgement will be given after your second return."
He found himself in a womb again, to begin living again. Comfortable, yes, but something was wrong... a voice came over him:
So glad to see you well, overcome them, completely silent now.
With heaven's help you've cast your demons out.
And not to pull your halo down around your neck and tug you off your cloud, but I'm more than just a little curious how you're plannin' to go about makin' your amends to the dead.
Recall the deeds as if they're all someone else's atrocious stories.
Now you stand reborn before us all.
So glad to see you well.
And not to pull your halo down around your neck and tug you to the ground, but I'm more than just a little curious how you're plannin' to go about makin' your amends to the dead.
He had acquired a millennium of thought... of remembering and feeling what he had done to others. No, the divine judgment was wrong, he needed to go down and bad.
He looked up and his umbilical chord invoked in him a weapon that he had used so much before...
With your halo slippin' down (I'm more than just a little curious how you're plannin' to go about makin' your amends)
He wrestled, tugged, and moved along in his water-filled hub for weeks to accommodate himself, as his hands weren't completely developed. Until one day, he produced for the last time his favorite knot... he slipped his head in and let the chord do his last will.
With eyes closed, he stopped breathing again, hanging from his life source and a smile in his face: he stripped his halo and faced his punishment...
Your halo's slippin' down to choke you now