I would not call him a “man”. He is not a man, and he is not a mutant. He is a monster, sent straight from Hell.

Parent’s should love they’re children unconditionally. It’s what makes us people. We can feel things like empathy. But Stryker does not feel this. He is incapable of it.

Stryker has one goal. And that is to kill and destroy. He does not care who he needs to use to get to his goal. Who he hurts. Because the people he hurts are not human, and he does not view them as individuals or equals.

You could argue he’s traumatized. He has a right to be angry. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.

The worst part is he almost won. He could have won, if he’d been more careful.

She watched as he crawled slowly across the ground a smile creeping across her face. “Ahmal, bring him to his feet for me would you dear” Ahmal replied by jerking him to his feet with his around his neck he turned him towards her. His went from struggle to horror as he read her facial expression loud and clear. With a nod of her head Ahmal threw him over the balcony.

As he let a scream she dove over the balcony behind him her wings bursting from each side. She managed to grab him just before he hit the pavement below. Relief briefly crossed his face, before horror replaced it again. She let an evil laugh enjoying every bit of this game. Playing with her food was always the best. If always made them taste so much better.

She flew as high as she could making sure to keep her eyes locked on him the whole time until his eyes grew frantic. Then she dug into making sure to drain him completely before dropping what was left to the ground

Well he’s charming but underneath he’s a narcisst who is in for him self the hedonistic pleasure. He hates himself his self image his hidden homosexuality. His hidden corruption and sexual desire debasement destroys those around him. His perversion now no bounds and his reputation is always unmatched but ruined beneath. He’s false he knows it

Precious, my precious, sweet precious. Keep you away from those nasty Hobitsis! Golumn snatch ring from them. Protect you my precious. Oh! look! some fishhys! gulps them down. We kill the hobitsis and get you back precious, precious! Precious come to me! coughs: Golumn,GOLUMn! No, smeagle bad! Bad smeagle! Not kill master, Master kill! no, master not kill! But i wants precious! Precious!

Last night, I met an angel. She was 20 years old, and I don’t know her name. I never know any of their names. I make it a point never to find out who a person was before they died.

She jumped in front of a car to save her dog. I reached her only seconds after the impact. The dog lay over her broken body, whining, as the drunk driver stumbled out of the car and vomited.

The girl looked painfully familiar. Blood stained her pale blonde hair, and her eyes, still open and staring up at the night sky, were an icy blue. Her soul wasn’t ready to go.

I’ve met some stubborn souls before. I’ve had to rip some out of the hands of hope myself, and if there’s one thing that’s the same about each soul, it’s that each one leaves claw marks on its body. Fighting to live is different from fighting to not die.

How can I explain this?

The dog slid his paw into the cold, lifeless hand of his owner and howled. The angel’s soul smelled pure and innocent. I couldn’t stop myself from looking up to see who she was.

Memories played out in the sky like a sitcom on TV. The angel and her friend having lunch. The angel helping an old lady cross the road. The angel volunteering at hospitals and food drives. The angel rescuing the dog she would later die for.

It made me sick. I could hardly keep my grip as the soul suddenly became heavy and weighed me down.

The dog looked at me. I had stayed too long already, and it was too late when our eyes met.

I could see the dog two years from now, laid out on a table and being poked at by veterinarians. That’s how he’ll die. Can’t I stop it? I wanted to lay the angel’s soul in a warm bed and tuck it in, whispering, “You did fine. You did great,” and “He’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

But who am I to make a deal with the devil?

I could feel his harsh stare from miles away, and I could almost feel his bony, burning hand as he grabbed my shoulder and threatened me with empty words.

Somewhere, my soul is trapped in a cage, daring to escape and return to me. Somewhere, I am trapped in a cage, longing to look at the stars without seeing the faces of the dead frowning down at me.

But today, I will take the soul of a soldier and, most certainly, many others as well. Today, I smile up at the dead.

i watched the people below me, screaming and crying. They were begging, for their spouses, their children, their friends and of course for themselves. they were going to a better place now, why couldnt they see that? they were to simple minded, i assured myself, their perspectives haven’t been broadened yet. if they only saw the world how i saw it, they would stop running from the flames. they would let themselves be engulfed and purified, they would willingly _melt _into their futures. whatever. theyll be there soon. I turned and walked to the table behind me, and poured myself a glass of red wine while i turned the record player up higher. I sipped and let my body sway to whatever hippie tune was playing now. I always kind of liked the Greatful Dead, although it was father who liked them the most. I wish he could have seen me now, what i had done, the feat of humanity i was achieving. He was always so impressed with Jesse, but where is Jesse now? Burning hundreds of feet below me, being delivered to pure bliss, absolute perfection, and _I’m _the one who gave it to him. When the glass was empty i couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace. I shut off the crystal chandalier above me, the lamp next to the couch and the holiday lights that were hugging the giant tree in the room. I went back to the glass doors, but this time I opened them. I stepped out, the wails having turned to muffled cries and dying last breaths. I myself took one last breath, only to be met with the smell of smoke and burnt flesh. No matter, everything was sweet there, even the air we wouldn’t need and the breaths we wouldn’t need to take. I smiled, closed my eyes, and waited for the growing flames to finally cover me.

he has his life good he had a good wife, good kids, and he threw it all away by cheating and his wife found so she picked up the knife and says break up with your girlfriend or I will kill you she yells

What a pretty Innocent Baby girl Dressed in pink

Such a shame That I wasn’t invited Because they hate She must pay the price

Ahh Yes child prick Your delicate finger On my sharp knife

We all hate me For a magic I possess She is mine And nobody else’s

I stare at the letter in my hand. And stare. And stare.

Dear Maleficent,

I received your letter regarding the christening of our newly born child, and though your desire to attend is clear, I am sorry to say that you will not receive an invitation. Only our prestigious and honored guests of our allied kingdoms or kingdom acquaintances have been invited, those who do not fit those categories have not. Thus your attendance would be inappropriate.

Sincerely, King Stefan of the Enchanted Dominion

I re-read the letter again and again. “Our allied kingdoms have been invited.” Allied? Were our kingdoms not allied? Did Stefan not remeber the peace agreements we had signed? The alignment our two kingdoms had made?

Ah, I see. I see it clear as daylight. “Allies.” “Acquaintances.” Clearly, I am not their ally. Nor their friend. Clearly, I am something entirely different. I remember those names hurled at me over and over again throughout my life. “Different. Out of place. Wrong. A witch. A mistake.”

I scoff. Half of those insults came from Stefan himself. Yes, it was clear now what I was to him. Clear now what he must be to me. If I am not his ally, I am his enemy. And he is mine.

                               -  -  - 

Two weeks later

I flick my fingers and the ivory double door entrance to the ballroom crashes open, a blast of wind and thunder sending the decorations tumbling. The chatter in the room stopps and I watch as everyone rears back in horror.

I can’t help but grin. This wasn’t even the best part yet. With another flick of my hand, I landed in the middle of the ballroom, engulfed in a burst of flame.

Ah, there he is. The king. I look at him and my grin only widens. The flames surrounding me dissipate, the silence in the room deafening. I break that silence.

“Well, well, well.” I nod my head down to the king and slowly turn in a circle, taking it all in.

“Quite a glittering assemblage, King Stefan. The decorations-“ I gesture to the streamers and banners I had sent crashing down in my entrance. “The prestigious guests, oh and I see even the little fairies have joined you. You really have outdone yourself.”

“You’re not wanted here!” The Smurf of a fairy yelled. What was her name again? Flory? Or was it Waterweather? I chuckle down at the little thing, glaring up at me.

“Leave, witch!” Stefan shouts, throwing his hands up at the open doors.

Before, a remark like that would have sent me sobbing in my bed for weeks. Now it made me smile. Oh, what fun.

“Oh?” I said, more to the king than the fairy. “I was truly hoping it was just a mistake for my invitation to never have arrived. But…now I see. I am not wanted here. Of course.” I look at Stefan, taking in the fear smeared across his face, the small tremble of his hands.

“But now I see, it was my mistake. It must have slipped my memory. We are not…oh, what did you call it? Allies? Yes, we are not allies. Certainly not friends. Oh, no, that is my mistake entirely. We are enemies, of course.”

Gasps sounded from around the room. Now was my chance.

“Of course, if we are enemies, we must act as such, my dear, king Stefan. Now, what do enemies do? Can someone enlighten me?” I spin, peering around the room. Dead silence.

Then, finally- “what do you want, Maleficent?”

I tilt my head at Stefan’s question.

“Why, I want to do what enemies do. If we are enemies, we must fight each other. Kill, curse, corrupt, whatever it takes to take down the enemy.” I scan the room then my eyes finally come to the three jokes of a fairy. Though fear glitters in their eyes, they stand straight, shielding me from something behind them. Something that I know is the key to Stefan’s undoing.

It’s just simple business, really. Revenge. As all enemies do. Stefan said we are enemies, so enemies we are.

I gasp with delight and make my way to the fairies. “Oh, is this the little princess this lovely celebration is for!” The fairies stay firm, a weak barrier between me and my prize.

I twitch my hand and send them flying back, crashing into the wall behind them.

I reach into the small crib and gently pick up the infant.

Stefan and his wife rush to my side.

“Please! Please don’t hurt her! I’m sorry. We should have invited you! Please!” He clutched onto his wife like a cane holding him stable.

I watch him. Silently. This was what I had felt. All those years of him name calling me. And now he says we are enemies, and he can finally experience it for himself.

I smirk. And let go. The infant comes tumbling down and screams erupt around me. At the last second, a cloud catches her and carefully brings her up to my hands. I look up at Stefan’s face and laugh. It was unnecessary, really, but oh the fun!

“Now, now, that was just a practical joke. But, oh are you lovely!” I outstretch my hands to examine the child’s face. She dangles from my hands, her eyes closed and letting out soft snores.

“Maleficent, leave! You have no reason to be here!” The king bellows.

“Tut, tut, tut! Of course I have a reason to be here. Is this not the christening of your newborn. What is her name?” I look at Stefan expectantly.

He swallowes. “Aurora,” he says quietly.

“Oh, tiny Princess Aurora. I have a gift for you!”

Stefan exchanges worried looks with his wife and I lay the baby back down in her crib. I hold my chin up and look at Stefan as I yell out my gift.

“My gift, to you, princess Aurora is that you will indeed grow in grace of beauty. Be loved by all known.” I hold up a finger. “But.” I hold my arms up, and grin, bellowing “Before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday! She shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel. And die!”

Gasps, screams and cries explode from the crowd and I watch as Stefan gaped at me, the color draining from his face.

Yes. Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. This alone could have brought me enough delight to last a lifetime. My grin widens and I throw my head back, laughing. The screams grow louder and so do my laughs. Finally! Revenge that would leave Stefan and his kingdom in shambles! It’s all I could hope for! I laugh and laugh, flames slowly flickering around me. With one last bellow, the flames explode upwards and I am gone.

That’s the beauty of it all. Light succumbs to dark eventually, as the day does to night. Life festers, decomposes, devours itself, and begins anew. I’m just another part of that process. I’m just another part of the Divine Cycle that haunts us all, trailing behind us, eating our footsteps faster and faster until there is nothing left— no marks, no trace, no shadow.

You think yourself a hero. You call your creed saintly, and holy, and high.

You fly the same paper flag that those self-proclaimed martyrs fought under, century by century. It may be painted in bold colors, but is ultimately prone to tear.

I’ve seen your type blossom and rise and yield to death, like all the rest. Another flower cut. Another farm boy bleeding out on the battlefield.

You’re not special. You’re just like all the rest.

Run home, little ram. I will not hesitate to cut you down as a bulrush before God.

And there is the heart of it: every bulrush falls eventually. Every man returns to dust. The sun will always fall, and the night will always rise.

Isn’t it beautiful?