Stalker

Everyone wishes for immortality. Be careful what you wish for.

God killed his only child.

Remember this: everything you desire has a price. I’ll tell you my story, but you shouldn’t want to be like me. I don’t love you. I have loved one person, and I found her tonight for the first time in over 300 years.

Her name was Angela. I can still picture the way her black hair draped over the side of her face like a shadow, that one eyebrow raised when she coyly smiled. Her hazel eyes sometimes wanted to be brown, sometimes green. They were black when I found her the last time. She writhed on the floor, desperately pushing a knife into her own body. Then I took her life. I want to love like I did then.

If you want immortality, I’ll tell you what that means: it means you die and hope for resurrection; or it means you are reborn and remember nothing. And then there is me. When I die, I always return, and, eventually, I remember everything. I want to make this clear: if you killed me, I’ll find you, and when the night begins, you will never know the passion of anger that I will bring. And you don’t want to know the way I feel.

I want someone to know my history. The devil has stalked me from that moment when I was the only being he couldn’t possess. I am hunted by the beast—a being that has never known death even after betraying God. And now we face each other. I crave Angela’s love. The devil craves my soul. And she doesn’t know.

Be warned. To be like me is not to face absolution. Forgiveness can be redundant.
In the end, to be like me is to face the reality of floating endlessly through the darkness of the universe. To be like you, though, brings better promises. I’ll explain it all.