Metanoia: elemental change… death.
I remember that phrase and my memory takes me to the well of blood on the boulevard; in front of my toes, bent between the sidewalk and the asphalt, my fiancée lay with a red smile between her lips. The shot to her chest did not allow him to even insert the gold ring on her thumb, nor even to sketch the “I do” that her face had confirmed to me in advance. She happened quickly, without any omen, before the horse-drawn carriage that I rented to celebrate our love and future marriage.
Metanoia: Ethereal flight over the underworld…
Minutes before the misfortune I had taken out the ring. I knelt down, sighed, she jumped with happiness, and in the blink of my eyes she crashed into the sidewalk spraying my face with blood. I froze, hearing nothing more than a whistling in my ears, watching the corpses continue to pile up on the flower-bedecked boulevard. The carriage horses cheered as armed men, covered in white masks, moved closer to make sure we were all dead.
“Metanoia” I stuttered.
They moved the corpse of what was to be my wife with her feet, ignoring my crying on her cold chest, hitting me with her rifle so that I would not resist the ropes with which they immobilized my body. They dragged me away from her to her van, and although I begged for her death, they resorted to strategic mercy convinced that the salvation of the world ran through my blood.
“Metanoia.” It was the only thing I said when they tried to know my name to the blows.
I wasn't the only one they took; the entire city became a river of blood. I was there, laying my head on the trunk of the van, listening to gunshots and screams, and thousands of agonized pleas. Without encouragement of anything, I took refuge in the memory of what was going to be my wife: her black hair, her grape skin, her emerald eyes... I hit my bones with the weight of my own body, hoping for an injury that would allow me to leave. the physical world. It was not what fate wished for me, neither then nor now, that I can carry out my revenge.
Interested in their experiments, they thrashed me out of the van and dragged my body to a laboratory filled with capsules of bubbling green liquid. Inside, men and women floated among the bubbles and cables that protruded from their bodies. I watched blurry, disturbed by inconsolable loss, and choked my throat in a choke that forced me to tear my throat out with the force of screaming.
“Metanoia.” My madness spoke.
They silenced me with a blow somewhere on my head, and I could no longer stand on my legs. Dark flashes continued to harass me while I dreamed of the underworld: I saw my father and his rifle, in a forest of deer, slaughtering the weak beings of nature at close range.
I woke up in a capsule filled with a red liquid, even though my eyes remained closed and my body connected to a hundred glowing wires. I looked at myself, naked in a cylinder programmed for experimentation, and truly thought that my soul had left the physical world forever. My deduction was wrong because he was still alive; I verified it when two men in white coats and dark glasses approached with notebooks to evaluate the progress of my evolution.
“The samples indicate that the insertion was successful in this host” Said one. “The rest of them did not resist the genetic modification.”
“It's a miracle.” Said other.
I saw them, hugging each other and crying victoriously, ignoring the fact that I was observing them in the transmigration of my soul, waiting for my opportunity to punish them with death. When they left I opened my eyes as if I had come back to life. I didn't move, I kept floating in the red liquid, disconnected from the world, thinking of her again. I stayed like that for several days, feigning immobility even though the men in white coats injected electrical charges into me to check the life in my bones...
But I felt no pain, no tickling, and no sign of stimulation.
They were shocked by the possible failure of their investigation, and I, paralyzed by my own will, took the opportunity to understand more about my new body. Yes, I was born a second time, but because of genetic science and the disproportion of an evil organization that took the love of my life from me. My back now served as a cradle for two great wings, and the length of my bones grew so large that they completely filled a room. My skin turned red like the blood of my fiancée... like the blood of the innocents on the boulevard who died from the bullets.
“Metanoia.” thirst for blood
They thought their experiment had failed, that I couldn't really move, but in my pretend dream I watched them, I could penetrate their minds!
“It is moving!” I heard them say between cheers and champagne.
And yes, between the applause and the jumps, I got up slowly from the long table where they injected me with electricity, and I looked at them all, and they stopped celebrating when they noticed that the light bulbs became intermittent: black and white, black and white…
They tried to run, but I sealed all the doors with the energy of my mind. My wings spread and hurled a deadly blast at them all, bodies flying like bones in a storm. My hands reached out in the intermittent light to twist bones, to create nightmares, to destroy everything. The bullets and the masked men arrived later, alerted by the emergency sirens, and I took the opportunity to spread my fury over every corner of the laboratory.
"Metanoia" I thought when my feet felt the blood of my enemies, piled on the corners of flickering light.
There was nothing left but inert bones, covered with the anger that my heart still felt. I remembered my father and his violent attacks, and the way he demanded that I be a man without scruples. No doubt I repeated the slaughter of the deer, only this time it was men who really deserved death.
“Metanoia” I remembered my father's voice: “Repeat it every time you need to quench your thirst for blood!”
I raised my wings and destroyed the ceiling to fly freely in the sky. In front of me the city shone at night, whipped by the masked men who took my love and turned it into anger. And now, as I breathe in the fresh air from the clouds, I can have a minute of peace before the final phase of my revenge. I no longer have my beloved, but my scarlet skin will be a symbol of redemption: free the innocent, purge the wicked...
I scream with all my might as I reach out my hands to turn off all the lights in the city. My wings cross the clouds and my shadow falls on the buildings with the help of the moon while the masked men try to kill me. I smile as I stand before them, draining the bullets from my impenetrable body, balling my fists to honor the fallen.
“Who are you?” They ask nervously.
“Metanoia.” My wings prepare to initiate slaughter and justice. “And tonight I will quench my thirst for blood.”
Thanks you for reading!