"I'm a nobody, nobody special to care about what others think about me.
"My parents died when I was still at a young age, leaving me and my little sister to suffer alone. We weren't highly educated, and we had no choice but to make it on our own in the city.
"We begged down the roads day and night, but no one ever helped us. Maybe it's because I'm not good at expressing myself, and I'm not the best communicator. But for my little sister, that wasn't the case. I guess we hadn't shown enough ability.
"Once, we'd eaten a single loaf of bread over a six-day period. Hunger kept us up at night. At least we found a decent spot under a bridge, so we didn't have to face the cold winter tempest above the surface.
"Finally, I found a job at one of the residential living in the city, taking care of their trash day and night.
"Nighttime was colder than I ever imagined. The corridor's wall lights were out, leaving everything shrouded in darkness. I could barely see anything, and the only light seeping out was from one of the rooms standing at a distance.
"Most of the trash reeked of something fierce. The smell of death lingered in the air. And from time to time, I had to take a look inside the trash bags to put my heart at ease.
"It wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, but it put food on the table. Plus, the free time at night allowed me to study. Few people ventured out of their rooms, but when they did, they were there delivering more trash or just passing by. I had to make do without books, as I couldn't afford them, and I didn't see any point in them.
"But I had to thank my predecessor for leaving so soon, as it allowed me to be here in the first place.
"I dreamed of working during the day shift. Sleeping during the day and being awake at night made my body weak and my head throb. But I had no choice but to endure.
"One night, a new trash bag was brought in.
"From what I heard, inside it contained chunks of meat from my predecessor, who suddenly left.
"I was intrigued by the mysterious disappearance of my predecessor, and as soon as they delivered the bag and left, I quietly opened the trash bag.
"It was filled with blood at the brim, but at first, I thought it was something else. I dipped my hand in it and quietly pulled out the contents, filling it.
"A severed arm. Most of it was white.
"I saw a strange mark on top of it. It was bluish-black. I can't really explain it. The light was too dim at the time.
"I guess it was some kind of tattoo.
"I quietly sealed the bag. It was none of my business in the first place. I didn't know the guy, so there was nothing I could do for them. The sight of their hand only left my heart pounding aloud. I couldn't control it...
"Since that day, every time I close my eyes, I'm swallowed by a thick cloud.
"Something tells me I'm not alone. Something not quite human is heading my way. But nobody will listen. They think I've lost my mind in this job; they say I need a doctor, because no normal person would be picking up trash just to put food on the table..."
The narrator's voice carried through the smoky bar, every word dripping with amusement, though no one dared to interrupt him.
A male customer, with his body lying on the floor, looked at the narrator, who suddenly stopped as blood slowly streamed down from the male customer's eyes.
He was in his mid-thirties. His hair was slicked back, and he had a rough, dark bowler hat resting by his side. Covered with blood.
"At least my little sister understands why I did what I did."
The narrator spoke again, looking at the male customer as he flashed a smile while holding a small knife to the throat of the male customer.
The narrator was a strapping lad in his late teens, with long limbs and chiseled features that could make any lass weak in the knees. His disheveled short, jet-black hair and bright, blue eyes only added to his appeal. But the most striking thing was the way he was dressed.
His attire spoke both class and chaos: a tailored black suit trimmed with deep red, its inner lining rich and velvety, worn over a crimson vest and a crisp white shirt. Around his neck rested a teal bow tie, loosely knotted. His trousers were sleek and dark, matching the sharp lines of his jacket, and his brown boots, though polished.
The lad looked wistfully at the knife in his hand and let out a deep sigh as the corners of his lips shifted up, turning into a grin.
"Do you know why?"
The male customer swiftly sealed his trembling eyes, and before he could say anything, the narrator finished him off as he answered his own question.
"Haha, cause I'm her sweet big brother who'll always be on her side no matter where she goes."
Blood quickly covered the wooden floor. Sitting from a distance as the blood continued flowing was a man who was taken aback by the young lad's story. Limbs subtly trembling as tears run across his face.
"Were you just pulling our leg?"
"Hahaha!" Laughter erupted across the bar.
However, it was short-lived as the lad slowly stood up from the male guest's body and looked at the man who spoke a few seconds ago. Still maintaining his grin as he bent down and picked up the guest's hat from the floor, and then put it on without getting rid of the blood on it.
"You're not from around here, are you?
I run this whole damn place, and I don't like mouths that talk back. You get me? You know why? Cause I can't stand it, so if ya wanna end up like ya friend there, you'll stay quiet when I talk to ya"
The lad said, getting close to the man who spoke earlier. The man stayed silent, afraid of making things worse for himself. But he had a lot of questions to ask the lad, but he just couldn't, since he was told not to speak when spoken to.
He was a farmer from the village of Ketter, wearing drab-colored tunics.
The black-haired lad, Kevin, leaned forward at the man and poked his red nose. He flashed a cheeky grin and proclaimed, "As you know, I ain't the one making the rules. And if I were my little sister, you'd have been lying dead by now. She's a nice, and doesn't like toying with her prey.
With that, Kevin turned around, spread his arms wide, and severed the foreign man's head in a flash. Clean.
"Looks like another family member from the Ketter has left us again." What an unfair world." Kevin said with a smile, turning around and facing the guest now dead on the floor.
A few seconds later, after killing the farmer, someone banged on the door, making Kevin jolt with surprise. He wasn't expecting anyone to be joining them, cause the sun had long been gone, and it was almost midnight.
"Open up!" They called out, still banging the door. Hard.
"I ain't got time for this," Kevin murmured, looking at the door as it was about to crack due to the force being added to its other side.
"I said open up!"
He turned, facing a small window a few steps from where he was. The window looked big enough for someone like the two men dead on the floor to fit on. But there was only one issue.
It was standing atop the bar that if Kevin had to get out using it, he had to jump, really high, to reach.
A few seconds later, the door finally gave, and behind it was a man in his late forties, carrying a gun. Ready to shoot at whoever was in the bar. But he was a second too late cause Kevin was now already atop the window, jumping to the other side.
"Damn you, clown!"
bang!!
The man pulled the trigger and took the shot, barely grazing Kevin's shoulder as he grabbed onto a long pole just next to the other building.
The moment he was jumping, he planned on going straight to the ground, but he changed his mind after seeing how long the distance was from the window to the ground.
'That was close.'
He loosened his grip from the pole and stepped onto the balcony of the other building in one piece.
Meanwhile, in the bar, the man had spent a few great seconds looking at the mess Kevin had left for him to clean. This wasn't the first time this happened. Kevin always comes once a week to enjoy himself at this bar by killing anyone he comes across. And this started getting on the owner's nerves, so he had to close up shop every night to prevent more murders.
"What a mess." The man uttered, setting his gun down, and then a second later touched his right temple, trying to relieve his throbbing head.
He couldn't take it anymore. The smell of blood, the laughter, the bodies. And worst of all, this was his bar.