Mahogany

I breathe in and choke on the deep shades of mahogany in the shadows. Then I laugh in spite of myself. What else is there to do?

I’m shattered, ground into nothing but a dust that no one will ever notice. The shadows can take me; perhaps I can be one of those rich purple hues. I can haunt others like I’ve been haunted. It’ll taste just like revenge, except it’ll only be pain and rich, fresh blood instead.

I’m broken, so why bother fighting anymore? My passion was ripped from my soul, and my human sympathy was set ablaze by the spark of his words. “No more,” he used to say, taunting me. He knew I’d come for more. My bones ached for it and my conscience was too weak, too deprived to do anything about it. He was my weakness, and he used that against me. He wasted himself to take me out of the picture.

That’s how I got here; a sitting duck, waiting to be engulfed by the darkness, waiting to join their team. Revenge, even if it’s only a figment of my imagination, is sweet as hell. It’s all I want, and I can’t apologize. I crave mahogany.

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