It’s somewhere, deep inside me, shaped like a spike. It remembers times when I was still fully human. Thanks to it I don’t need to remember. It stings me right in the mind when I forget. I don’t know it’s good to remind me those times, though. It only disrupts me, makes me more fragile. And I need to be wild, like water breaking a dam.
When I kill, I don’t do it professionally. I do it bloody. I do it messy. And then comes the spike. I loathe it because it’s the memory of who I was.
I am not an animal nor a human. My body is agile and I don’t mind the wounds. My only incurable wound it the spike.
Your life means nothing when I pass your path. I am a cat. I am a wild wolf. I am a death that falls on four limbs.
I am. Qhal. And it will be the last thing you hear when I cross on you.
…Am I? Am I human?… it seems I was. The spike seems to loosen up on my mind. Maybe soon I will be free…
Excerpt from the story I write. Drawing by me, made few months ago, it’s Qhal of course. I think it’s partially X-Men tribute, thought it’s set in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld. I think Qhal may be soon very often guest on my blog.