• “I'm well aware of how it aches and you still won't let me in,” the hollow voice rang out in an echo through the empty church. The dark eyes of the young male were blank and staring, his shoulder-length, blood encrusted, silver-dyed hair tumbling around his ghostly pale features. It was obvious that he was staring at something, but what was it? The metallic scent of blood filled the air with its stench.

    He was sitting in one of the pews, nearest to the pulpit. The cold eyes were staring at a mass of flesh lying on the floor, mere feet away from his seat. The body’s robes were soaked in the crimson liquid that pooled around it. It was a priest…a slaughtered priest. His brown hair was not even discernable because of the red. The priest had a bullet wound in his chest and his neck had been ripped open as if a serrated knife had been taken to his skin. Not only that, but his face had been brutally mutilated beyond the point of recognition.

    “Now I'm breaking down your door to try and save your swollen face,” the male continued in the same monotone as before. He had tried to hunt the priest down after the fight they had. The male tracked him to the church and tried to open the door. But it was locked; there was the sound of a struggle coming from within. Suddenly worried, he pounded on the door, screamed his name, begged for him to open the door. He was praying that the Little Priest would be all right and that he was merely having issues, perhaps, with lifting something.

    Just then, a gunshot sounded and echoed through the frighteningly silent night. A strangled scream came from inside. Suddenly, the Parasite forced all of his strength onto the hardened wooden doors, breaking them down and rushing inside. The man in black had escaped through a broken stained glass window at the far end of the church. Rushing towards the pulpit, he found the damage to already have been done. The Little Priest lay lifeless on the floor of the church, blood spewing from the bullet wound in his chest.

    Screaming, the Parasite collapsed beside his beloved’s corpse and sobbed. He pounded his fist against the other’s chest as his tears fell. He had been angry, but never would he have wished this onto his Little Priest. His eyes were open and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Still sobbing, he lifted his head, screamed in a sudden rage, and punched the Little Priest in the side of the face. The Parasite could feel bones crunching underneath his fist but he didn’t care.

    Looking around, he found a knife on the floor. The man in black must have dropped it. Reaching out to grab it, he held it delicately in his hands before gripping it firmly. Stabbing the blade into the corpse’s face, he dragged the knife from temple to chin and watched the blood flow crimson. Pulling the knife back he stabbed it again into the face and watched it tear easily through the frail skin. His Little Priest had been beautiful and no one was ever going to have the privilege of seeing his beloved’s flawless features again.

    Without a reason for his actions, the Parasite bent down and ripped the Little Priest’s neck open with his teeth. The blood began to pool around the body; it flowed into the cracks between the stones on the cold floor and coated the lower part of his jeans. He screamed, cried, cursed, stabbed and ripped at the corpse.

    “Why!?!?!?!” he had screamed into the building, his voice bouncing off the walls. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, the Parasite stiffened, the knife falling from his hands. He stared at the mutilated corpse of the Little Priest and sucked in a shaky breath. His anger and sadness had gotten the best of him and now he had made such a mess of the one he had used to love. Stumbling backwards, he tried to stand up, only to sway on his feet. He caught himself on the bench nearest him as he fell and gingerly moved into the seat.

    And this is where we are now. The Parasite singing a song. A Song To Say Goodbye. Placebo. Good song.

    He looked down at the blood stained knife on the floor; he stared at the corpse of the Little Priest before him. This wasn’t a way to live; he knew he would always regret this day. He couldn’t live with himself any longer. Sliding off the bench and onto the floor, he crawled over to the knife. Picking it up he gave one last longing look at his beloved.

    “Though I don't like you anymore, you lying, trying waste of space,” he sang in a hollow tone yet again. “I can’t help but want to die for you.” With that, he put the knife to his throat and slid the blade across his pale skin. The blood gushed out of his jugular and the knife fell from his numb hand. Collapsing onto the corpse of his Little Priest, he stared at the mutilated face through glassy eyes.

    “I’m…sorry…” Those were his last words before a fountain of scarlet liquid spilled out of his mouth. He choked on his own blood and died on the Little Priest’s chest. Whoever found the two would probably assume it was a murder. No one would ever know what happened that night, just as it should be.