The Face Behind the Mask

He never stopped moving, never stopped traveling, never stopped dying inside. He couldn’t. If he did the regret and guilt and horror would consume his soul. Every town and every city that he passed through was left with a fragment of the stain of his existence. People didn’t talk to him. His presence was too terrifying. Any who got close enough would see the shadow of depression that hid behind his eyes.

But no one wanted to get close enough to this tormented soul. No one wanted to see the terrible things that dwelt in the deepest recesses of his mind. No one ever stopped to ask why. They never asked him why he was a crippled shape of pain. He hadn’t always been that way or had he?

They wouldn’t know because they never stopped to ask. They couldn’t. Had he been normal in the way he appeared then they might have been able to approach him but he wasn’t. Some remembered him as the young crusader who saved their homes in the name of God. They contemplated if this could possibly be the same man before deciding that it wasn’t possible. How could it be?

The scars are what kept them away from him most. The deep, black mask of burned flesh that covered the left side of his face. Did it appear in other places as well? His left hand was always covered in a glove to hide the continuation of the hideousness that was his scars.

He rode a black horse that viciously attacked any who came near it. Maybe it wasn’t a horse though. Maybe it was only what could be seen by human eyes. Every piece of his clothing was blacker than night without an insignia or any form of identification or design

Everywhere he went, death came with him. It followed him like a cloud, descending upon the people he passed. He never entered a church or any holy place. It was doubtful that he could. No evil thing could tread upon holy ground. He never touched anyone. The unlucky few who brushed up against his skin were immediately dragged to the grave.

He was a beast like no other. A monster. Some thought that he was Lucifer, come to Earth. Others believed him to be a demon sent to destroy human life. They were all wrong. What that didn’t understand was that he had once been that knight who had given everything to keep them alive. They didn’t know that he had given up the gift of humanity to save a life.

He gave up his humanity to save a life that couldn’t be saved. What was he? What was this monster that walked among them? He couldn’t change the foreboding presence because he was foreboding. He was evil. He was terror. He was despair. He was depression. He was guilt. He was Death.

They couldn’t understand that Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human. He was once a human but now he was death. Death walks among us. He is Death and he is alive.