Demons of Metal, Demons of Glass, Pt. 7

The night wind blew cold around Esau, but he ignored it. He was used to being cold. He was used to being hot. He had spent his life in discomfort more often than not, it seemed. There were children who spent their days laughing and playing, children for whom the threat of war and bloodshed was just a story that their parents, their aunts and uncles, their grandparents used to scare them.

Esau had not been that child. At an age where boys and girls were having their first kisses, awkwardly exploring each others’ bodies and the world around them, he’d been laying in dirt, in mud, on rocks, on rooftops, a rifle in hand and human beings in his sights.

“There are no demons,” he muttered. “No demons but the kinds people make of each others and themselves.” The wind and the moon gave no reply, but he neither expected nor wanted one.

Glass eyes rested on top of his head, a leather and elastic band holding them in place. He pulled them down and turned them on. The world turned blue, the people that inhabited it orange and red. The details were lost, but the people stood out brightly. Off in the distance, the soldiers appeared green, their vehicles and their drones red and orange and white. “Fine,” he thought to himself. “The demon will be green as well.”


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