For Creative Writing

[T O D O K U *]

So for my creative writing class, we had to create a villain and write a short story about them doing something villainous. I figured I'd post it here for feedback :3

[atrb=style, width: 700px][atrb=border,0,true] This was something he absolutely had to do. A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, sat on a low branch of a tree. His eyes were a deep, dark color, his irises blending in almost perfectly with his pupils. They were sunken, and the area around them was darkened by a mixture of the shadows and heavy use of black eyeliner. His oddly white hair was straightened, sticking out in random places, and touched the nape of his neck. Matching his pale complexion, his lips were light, almost colorless and nearly blended in with the rest of his face. Had it not been for the very little color they held, they would be lost on his face. High cheekbones added a more angular appearance. His worn down, black Converse sneakers nearly touched the ground, the tops just barely covered by his navy blue jeans. A plain, black T-shirt covered his torso with an equally dark colored jacket. The day was sunny and warm but not unusually so. It was always warm this time of the year in Mareth City. People were bustling on the sidewalk, creating an indistinct noise that only a large group could make. The young male sat silently, staring straight ahead of him. Across the narrow, one-way street was a lone, large building – a Catholic church. A sudden burning sensation swept across his back in one fell swoop, leaving the man cringing and gripping onto the branch he was sitting on for dear life. His brow creased as he shut his eyes tight, willing the pain to vanish. He hated it when this happened. “Samael,” a voice rasped. Through the pain, he managed to look to his left where a being now floated. The thing was covered by black fabric, the ends torn and frayed like a rag. A hood overshadowed the creature’s face, casting it into a perpetual shadow. The only visible thing on the creature that wasn’t black were the white bone fingers that clutched onto the knotted, wooden handle of Death’s signature scythe. “What ever are you doing sitting outside of a church, Samael?” Death questioned, an amused undertone in his voice. The burning was beginning to subside, leaving a dull throbbing in its wake. “You said that, in order to save Reina, I have to bring an untimely end to a pure heart. Where else would there be a purer heart than at a church?” Samael replied, shaking his head slightly and turning to watch the people passing by, unaware that Death was so close to them. Death let out a low, haunting chuckle that rang in Samael’s ears longer than it lasted. The robed figure quickly faded from view, leaving Samael alone again. However, the troubled young man was never truly alone. Ever since he had been born, Death had been nipping at his heels every step of the way. It was as if his very birth had somehow summoned the wretched thing. Even in times of extreme loneliness, Death sat by Samael’s side like some damned dog from hell. He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts as his sunken gaze locked onto a single person, and he watched intently as the man pulled the door to the church open, similar to the way an animal would watch its prey. He hopped down from the branch he was sitting on and made his way towards the church. People gave him odd stares as they eyed his white hair and pale complexion. He didn’t care. They were the least of his worries. He glanced down the road to make sure no cars were coming before he hurried over to the wooden doors. As his lithe fingers wrapped around the handle, he could feel his heart grow heavy with the heinous crime he was about to commit. Nonetheless, he pulled the door open and entered. He passed the lobby without a second glance before going through a second door leading into the sanctuary. Thankfully, the church was conveniently empty. The priest of the church was walking down the aisle between the rows of pews. His back was turned to Samael. This wouldn’t do. “Father,” Samael called out, “I have sinned.” The older man turned to look at him. At this, Samael surged forward, his thin legs somehow carrying his weight and covering several meters in a matter of seconds. He knocked the man off balance and landed on him, his left hand pinning his shoulder and his right hand held up by his head, fingers splayed. “How many Hail Marys do you do you give for murder?” he asked, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The priest struggled beneath him, but with Samael’s weight securing his arms on his chest, he was practically helpless. Samael was still for some time, his fingers tightening little by little. His eyes looked soulless as he watched the man writhe under him. However, as the light in the priest’s eyes faded, Samael found himself turning to look away, unable to stomach the sight before him. When he no longer felt a beating heart beneath him, Samael released the man’s neck and stood up, refusing to look down at the corpse he had created. A creepy cackle filled the empty church. Samael tensed up as he felt a familiar burning along his back. He ground his teeth together. As the cloaked figure appeared in front of him, a fire lit behind his dark eyes. “There’s your untimely end of a pure heart, now return Reina and lift this terrible fate from me,” he growled. It was the first time in a long while that his voice held any sincere emotion in it. Death wagged one of its bony fingers at him. “Just because a man’s acts may be pure does not mean that his heart is pure as well. Good try, but you have sent me the wrong heart. Try again,” the scratchy voice said. Anger welled up in Samael’s chest, and he went to punch death god. The attack went right through the robed figure as he vanished once more. Samael bellowed, sounding more like an animal than a man. He would find this pure heart. He would bring an end to this pure heart, and let Death eat away at it. He would free himself from this curse if it was the last thing he did. Samael stormed out of the church, pushing and shoving his way through the crowded sidewalk. Hours later, police had been informed that a murder had occurred, and an investigation team had surrounded the area. Three glove-wearing police surrounded the corpse, checking for fingerprints of any kind. The only marks they found were bruises around the priest’s neck. As they cut away at the top part of his robes and exposed it, a collective gasp made its way from one cop to another. Bruises in the shapes of a human’s finger bones were visible. No fingerprints could be found.

[Bartholomew B. Sauer]

I love this, just by the way. It's a really fun read - the kind that makes you shudder in the best way possible. Awesome job, Todoku, I hope you got an 'A' on this assignment! ;]