Justin Brimhall has his bachelor’s degree in English Literature from the University of Utah. His debut novel Fallen Revenge will be published soon via RhetoricAskew publishing. When he's not writing, he enjoys exercise, binge watching film/tv shows, playing video games, or reading a good book. He loves to create characters and build worlds, then watch those characters interact with everything around them.
As her power grew, I felt stronger and Jealousy felt weaker. His coughs changed to gasps for air, suffocating under the weight of the power shift. Even though my strength powered up like a charged battery, I felt immense pain. It was as if she were ripping me apart from the inside, taking her fierce anger out on me for leaving her behind. Hatred wailed in my mind, thunderous like a thousand soldiers screaming their war cries on a battlefield.
I smiled in admiration. There was a strength to Melpomene. Something different from the last time I had spoken to her. Her innocence seemed to have slipped from her heart and allowed her darkness to take over.
I moved away from my minion and closed in on my target. Every movement I made was in unison with the crowd of people dancing on the hardwood floor. The clicks of the heels and clapping of their hands masked my presence, helping me glide toward Melpomene.
I didn’t know why she’d chosen to play games with me. She knew I could feel her presence. So why did she hide? Why did she lurk in the shadows, watching from a close distance? I was not looking forward to the moment she popped out from the darkness, revealing her intense emotions.
The gun fired. I felt the bullet pierce my torso, followed by the burning sensation mortals often describe. It didn’t hurt, but I could feel it rattling around inside of me. I clutched the wound, falling to my back with my eyes open.
The feeling of jealousy was overwhelming, and hate would soon follow. I didn’t want to intervene in mortal life, but this squabble I had inserted myself into assured me I could no longer act as a spectator.
Jealousy chuckled, shaking his head at the weak mortal. He didn’t have to tell me he was disgusted with the man. I could feel it as if I generated the emotion on my own. His truth was my truth, and there was so much more to being his ruler. He was an extension of me and one who saw everything from a different perspective.
“My entire existence has been to rule over you and Hatred,” I explained. “It’s been my only identity. Where has that gotten me? I’m invisible to my own family. I’m unable to succeed in their eyes, no matter what I do. So, I thought it best to come up here and travel the land as one of them. I’m hoping during my time up here I receive some kind of sign showing me an alternate path.”
That’s why I left. Jealousy and Hatred fueled me. They were the source of my power. They gave my existence purpose. But I was tired of feeling the way I did, and hearing them constantly banter back and forth was difficult.
I gripped the glass tight in my fist, and it hissed under the pressure. It was a warning not to press the issue or attempt to follow me when I left. I glared at him from the corner of my eye and drank the rest of the whiskey in one final gulp.