I need to kill them all. Drink them. Feel the salvation.

Standing before the door, no more knocks come, but the curtains shift, being pulled aside. My left hand closes over the doorknob. Just before wrenching it open, before I throw myself against him—dragging him into this house and draining every single drop of that sweet Blue blood—there is a hum. A voice. A child's voice, muffled through the wood.

"Dada, go park today."

Then the warm laugh of a man. My grip on the doorknob falters.

"All right," he replies, his voice tender. "Let's meet Uncle Sam later, shall we?"

"Yay! Park! Park! Park!" The child's voice rises in innocent delight, and suddenly my vision blurs. Tears well up, distorting the doorknob in my hand, turning the metal vivid and watery.

Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!

The voices crash against my skull like breaking glass—my left arm burns; heat courses through it as though fire is poured into the veins. My fingers twitch uncontrollably; nails split and fall from their beds.

Staggering backward, my arm raw and red, the skin peels, tearing from the flesh beneath. The voice explodes like a volcano, while a maggot pushes through, piercing the meat of my arm.

I scream.

Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!

The chant rises in unison, an avalanche of commands pounding against me.

Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!

The sound overwhelms me, dragging me down. Everything spins into a carousel of crimson, my head whirling as if caught in an endless spiral.

"Kill them all—Golden Reaper—Kill them all."

The voice twists upward. "That is what you're the best iat"

But now, the voice is my own.

A growl tears from my throat, while saliva drips from my mouth. My left arm rustles. It is no longer mine, but a hive for things crawling. Maggots writhe through my flesh. My head spins faster, and in that dizziness, something impossible arises in my vision: a red moon hanging outside the window.

The curtain is gone. The night beyond is pitch black, no stars, no life.—only the moon, red as clotting blood.

"Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!"

I mumble it again. It does not stop. Each movement sharpens the vertigo. My neck feels as though it's about to burst; something rips through my spine. The voices swell higher, ravenous.

Darkness rises and swallows me; red fog seeps into every pore, every thought. The red moon glares down like a blade pressed through my neck.

"Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!"

The voice screams inside my head, yet I barely whisper them. The command breaks into rhythm, consuming, until there is nothing else.

And then—my lungs heave.

The air slides easily into my lungs. Nothing spins. My chest rises, steady. The world has changed.

Blue light bathes the street around me, instead of the color of my own. A warm brilliance glows on the back of my head. Horses gallop past, hooves pounding, wheels clattering.

The buzz of an insect darts to my left, and for the first time in what feels like eternity. Silence. No voices. No commands. Only stillness.

I smile. My lips part without thought, dazed beneath the turquoise sky. I am no longer inside the house, but outside on the streets.

The azure sun gleams high, pouring its light down my back like a caress. A horse neighs, straining against the whip of a driver as a carriage rattles by.

A passerby, a young woman in a bright dress, notices me. Kneeling on the sidewalk, the carriage with its pale, almost luminous Blue horses speeds past, pulling its weight like a dream.

The young woman looks at me, her eyes wide, then screams. She turns and flees.

I watch her, still smiling, not to hear the oppressive screams, not feeling my insides twist. My lips refuse to close. The sweetness lingers on my tongue, and my gaze lowers itself.

A man lies in front of me, sprawled, his body torn apart. His stomach is ripped wide open, spilling its contents across the ground. My left arm drips with blood. Not mine, but Blue.

It stains my clothes, soaks into my skin, paints me whole. As if to correct me.

Beside him, a girl lies motionless. Not dead. Alive, but faint. Her breath shallow, her chest rising in uneven rhythms. She stares at me with eyes vast in terror.

And still, my smile does not fade. I try, but my mouth will not obey.

Instead, a hollow laugh escapes me. Turning from the girl to her father, his mouth hangs open, his lips pale. No breath escapes; his eyes are empty, glassy, yet still fixed on his daughter. A single strand of neatly combed hair has fallen across his face.

Tears track down his high-boned cheeks, frozen there. His last gift to her.

My laugh falters, collapsing into a broken chuckle. Then a sob. Tears rush down my cheeks, dripping into the blood that stains me. The sound of laughter twists, shattering into quiet, muffled crying.

And still, I smile.

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