My friends—well, the people I arrived with can’t even look at me. I give them my best smile and they just freeze up. Or run away. But the soldiers and townspeople don’t look at me the same way. They can’t stand the carnage either. But they look towards me and the dead with a different perspective. They count. They see only enemy soldiers, and me standing surrounded by the dead. They have something else in their eyes. Fear. Fear of the unknown. But hope, too. The funniest thing. They don’t understand what I’ve done, or what I am. But I killed monsters and they think that makes me a good person.
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Killer Clown from Other places
