Skull and Crossbone

Jakia

Prologue

Once upon a time is how a tale such as this ought to begin. At least it would, if this were a tale. You cannot accurately call this a tale, I imagine, because calling it a tale would imply that it is fiction, and I promise it is not so. Rather, it is a semi-accurate retelling of my life, told in a poetic and vastly over-dramatic form as a source of humble entertainment.

And while I’m sure it is extremely entertaining in it’s own way, keep in mind that it is indeed factual, if you ignore any, er, slight exaggerations I may add. It is my story; I am a proud and (mostly) honest man, but time shifts things and can really skew your sense of perception, if you let it. But I will promise you that this is by far the most accurate tale you can get from a proud and (mostly) honest man, and I intend to keep it that way.

Arrogance, after all, is the downfall of human nature, and pride will be the damnation of us all. I say this because I am a proud man, and pride alone has been my downfall. I should hope to think that I am not alone in this fault, and am not the only one to have drowned in tragedy from it.

For I should warn you of this now—this tale is most definitely a tragedy.

It does not—and simply cannot—have a happy ending. I stopped believing in happy endings a long time ago, and I refuse to start again now.

This story is a tragedy because it ends with death. A death, you must understand, caused by pride. My pride, if you want me to be a little more specific. She died because of my pride, and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret it.

I am a murderer.

My hands are stained with both her blood and my guilt, my sin. I loved her, I killed her, both unintentionally, but still just as guilty in the end. I wonder, what sort of justice remains in this world if someone evil like me is allowed to roam the streets and not vanish a little more every day behind the cold, stone walls of a prison cell?

Some would say it (her death) was not my fault. They are liars—every last one of them. Her death would not have happened if it weren’t for me. Some days I wish we had never met, at least then she would still be alive.

I ask you of one thing, stranger, and I beg of you to this: allow me to bear this one sin, forever unforgiven. I am a murderer and nothing will ever bring her back. I do not deserve a single hand of help or sympathy. My judgment will come.

Will you stay, stranger, now that you know the truth? That in the dark corner of this shady tavern, sitting across from you with beady eyes and a casual grin is not just another drunken fool, but a hunter, a killer. Will you leave, out of fear? I cannot blame you if you do—I would, too, if I were in your shoes.

Or will you stay—and give me a chance to tell the truth, the only truth that I have ever known, and the only thing left of this world that remains true?

I hope you stay, stranger.

Maybe, before the end of this, I can find redemption.

Don’t hold your breath.

XXX

A/N: Don't steal my book kthnxbye.

P.S.: Reviews are love.