x She thinks,
x That, perhaps, she had known all along
x That maybe it was her own self
x All the death around her never once made her stomach turn.
x Never choked up sour bile over a corpse
x As sanguine rivers pooled around her feet,
x She stared.
x Gunsmoke and sewer mud
x Always smelled like home
x Killers don't go to Heaven;
x No, they rot in the blood that they spilled.
x She knows what her future will be,
x That the leash will always be coiled around her neck,
x Once upon a time,
x In a small village near a war,
x A little girl slaughtered hundreds.
x And all the war strong soldiers, big and brave and cold,
x Whispered quietly
x About the monster sitting behind them.
x She thinks that from her very first day as a killer.
x That she knew what a monster she was.
x That she knew of her future as a bloodhound, and that
x There was a monster inside her
x and it wanted out.
x The streets ran acrid copper,
x With the blood of the children she had massacred.
x But she tried not to think about about these things for very long;
x After all, empty eyes needn't look too closely.