Trial 2 - Part 6: Axe To Grind

My gait was more of a limp than a walk, a slow and uneasy step, as if, in the moment, my legs had become an extension of my body, separate from myself. My left leg felt heavy and stiff; on the outside, the skin felt papery and dry, like it had been bleached of all the life it had once contained. Inside, my stomach felt heavy and full of a kind of dull and bitter dread. I knew what was going to happen, and I knew it would take me hours to get there.

I was going to be sick.

I knew that too, because it had already happened - I should be dead, and yet I wasn't. I need to find shelter, I thought. I need to hide. I need to know how to survive, how to live. I need to stop this.

In the snow storm, a figure - A black silhouette in a dark, heavy rain of flakes of snow - approaches. Their a large, almost imposing figure, hunched and bulky, with a heavy coat and a hat that seemed almost to cover their face.

This figure was coming for me.

I could tell by their black figure from a distance they carried an axe. I watched as the person moved slowly towards me, the axe held at their side as if they were a guard. They made no attempt to be quiet, only their feet crunched through the snow, the thud of their steps almost deafening in the stillness of the storm. The person drew closer to me, almost within arm's length. I tensed, ready for anything. I could see the heavy shadow of their arm, as it reached out for me, as if reaching towards some greater, dark presence that I could not see. I was sure that was what they were. I waited for the axe to fall, and I tensed my body to face it as the axe reached the side of my neck. It swung forward -

Nothing. There was only silence.

The silhouette slowly drew back, slowly turned away. Slowly, the axe that had swung forward in an arc, slowly moved back, moving past me. The figure made no attempt to walk away, not even to close the distance, and just stood there for a few moments, as if waiting, waiting for me to get up, waiting for me to make my move. And then a fog formed inside my eyes; it was dark, wet like rain yet it had nothing to do with snow. A darkness as if to shield me from the world. A distraction from the horrors of this world.

I don't remember moving. I don't know how I made it to my feet. I must have, because eventually, I had the axe in hand - Fresh with a crimson red. How? What? Huh? Why? Why had I? Did I want to? No, I couldn't. But I did. I could feel the desire to, to die, to tear my own flesh and to destroy my own soul.

But I did not. I slowly looked up, focusing on the body that lay in front me, the man who had the axe originally - Was dead. Head bashed in, his neck broken, the wind knocked out of him. Eyes open, staring blankly towards the heavens.

I dropped the axe out of shock, how do I not remember killing him? I think I almost whimpered in relief. I took a deep breath, looking at him, at the face that was once so full of life. I looked around, desperately searching for a reason - Truth was there was none.

But one thought lingered inside of head space - Why don't I remember killing that man? That axe-man. However...

I am the Axe-Man now.