He couldn’t close his eyes. He’d see the faces.
Thousands of faces. A sea of faces.
The gypsy family, cowering in their caravan. Made him belch from the spiciness of their blood. Even the baby.
Homeless man on a park bench. Too drunk to see what was happening until the very end.
Shop girl, only wanting to serve. Eyes wide with fear when she found there was no spell to stop what he was.
Hippies at Woodstock. Stoned. Never even knew. Died blissful. Died young.
Red, the jagged glass of the broken bottle pushed close to her face. Thought she’d piss herself.
Little girl, pulled from the coalbin, dusted black from tip to toe. Screaming as she saw her family lying there. She didn’t understand death; now no one need explain it to her.
Dru, unconscious from the cattle prod. Dru, stake to her chest.
Harmony, stake in her chest, betrayed by love.
Thousands of faces, mostly human, some demon. Didn’t seem to matter as much which, now. Most dead at his hands.
People. A lake of blood.
And her face. Betrayal, disbelief, as he ripped open the bathrobe. Tears.
He was so tired.