The End of Hate

This story is by David A. Chase and was part of our 2018 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Breathe. Aim. Release.

They call me a Monster. They are wrong. Monsters don’t care who they hurt. I care very much.

A teenage girl texts on her phone, and suddenly falls as my arrow pierces the soft spot behind her ear.

They are gathered here today to protest the deaths, to honor the lives of the fallen, to demand justice.

I nock another arrow. Breathe, aim, release.

Hundreds of them. People of all ages. Determined to carry on the work of the deceased. I will not allow that work to continue. It ends here.

A boy who appears to be ten or so looks around in boredom, and sprouts a feathered shaft from his left eye.

They are the true Monsters and I am the Monster Slayer. Killing to protect the innocent. I am Artemis Pheraea, Daughter of Zeus, Daughter of Leto.

A third arrow is drawn and released.

Jean Rostand wrote: “Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god.”

The boy’s mother notices her fallen son, her scream cut short as she joins him on the ground, her throat pierced.

I am a god, and so I will kill them all.

People have noticed the woman and are beginning to react. I pick up speed. Aim, release; aim, release; aim, release.

These white supremacists have risen from the shadows and spread their hate. They terrorize people, invoking fear in those with the ‘wrong’ skin color.

A girl taking pictures. A man holding a child. The child he is holding.

They dare to question the gods? To think that the appearance we gave people makes them inferior? The hubris of these supremacists is beyond the pale. And so they will all die, including the children. For children become adults, following the teachings of their parents, and continue the cycle. This hate ends here, not only for this generation, but all generations to come.

The people begin to run; their screams of hate turning to screams of fear.

Two weeks ago, I went to their big conference and I struck fear into them. I killed everyone. No prisoners, no survivors.

My arms become a blur as arrows, which I will into existence, fly, each one hitting its target exactly where I aim.

The killings should have been a warning. One they either missed or ignored. I cut off the head, but the body survived; and gathered here in defiance.

I cease fire as movement stops on the now silent field.

They call me a Monster. They are wrong. Monsters don’t care who they hurt. I care very much. I will bring the world what it desires. The end of hate.