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You stare down at your own bloodied form. Face barely recognizable under the purple and the red. You glare down at them. Your hand locked around their neck in a death grip.
You can't help but let out an scoff. You always promised to never use violence. But in your defense, you only promised to never do so to your prisoners.
You never said anything about yourself, did you?
In your hand is a bloodied key. It hovers your bloodied body, over the puncture wound as if to unlock a door.
How does it feel, finally facing your past? You stare the lifeless body. No response. You take off the keyring around your body's neck, it's cold, metallic surface smooth against your fingers.
You hold it up, watching as the light reflects off it. It looks akin to a angel's halo. Except, you're anything but.
"You don't even know the damage you've caused… do you?" You ask, not looking at the body. You're unsure if you're listening. You hope you are.
All of the times you praised the system like scripture in a sick attempt to justify how weak you truly are. All of the times you hurt someone just because they did something you didn't like, as if you were an electrical cord with its wires exposed.
All of the times blood was spilled onto the floor because you wanted to played the part of someone carrying out justice.
You're nothing but an inept, authoritarian puppet guard. Leeching off of others you have power over, only to cry that it's not your fault when things go wrong. It makes you sick.
You stand up, letting go of your body's neck. Your handprint was already forming a bruise, like a flower blooming.
You could never show the love the prisoners deserved, could you? It was always that facade. That same, stupid facade of doing what was right.
Every part you played, every time you lied to your prisoners. It's no surprise it fell apart. You expected everything to go your way. That nothing would happen. As if the world would magically bend to your will.
You attempted to play a martyr, and as a result, the people you held the lives of, who only wanted to be saved, had died.
You're nothing but a sheep in wolf's clothing. Cowering behind your role to avoid feeling inferior. You feel disgusted. You finally see the truth you were so desperately trying to find. Only to figure out the truth was never going to play in your favor.
People like you… don't deserve the respite of being saved. We deserve to rot in this place. You grasp the key ring in both of your hands, before snapping it in half.