"Collector of souls" by Andrijana Ignjatovic

The collector of souls

I am very handsome. Both men and women find me attractive. I don’t know if that has something to do with my looks or by the fact that I am a somewhat of a riddle. People are drawn to mysteries. They think that they can solve them. I’m not so convinced of that. My good looks are to my benefit. Humans seem to trust a pretty face more than an ordinary one, they let their guard down and let you come closer.

I am known to humans as a demon, evoker of pain and ruthless in my pursuit of more souls to collect. I move from place to place, out of necessity. It is like a disease, a sudden urge to move on and meet the souls who are destined to die by my hand.

I should’ve been able to remember my origin; the abyss, the black gates of Hell, or even another demon brother. I do not remember. Does that mean that I have no past? Or does it mean that I’m dedicated to my purpose?

Don’t be fooled by my philosophical wonderings. I do bring death to the humans I slay and I enjoy it. I savor the fear and agony they feel when they die. I am not above that. You have not tasted power until you have collected a human soul. For seven hundred years I have performed my mission all over the world. Lately however I have felt…something odd. It feels like I’m being pulled, not by the need to collect souls but by something else. My mind has been infested by images I do not recognize. I fear that this unsettling change began when I went to a small village in India to collect the soul of Ashriwa Rajjin.

The woman named Ashriwa Rajjin was a farmer who planted rice. Her back was slightly crocked, all the long years of paying tribute to the rice, had taken out its toll. Despite that, she was beautiful. Her sari was not of the finest quality, nor did she and her family have a lot of money, but she had an aura of dignity around her. I had watched her for days. Her long black hair looked like silk, and her dark skin I imagined was soft to the touch. Just watching her do her daily chores excited me, soon I would be responsible for her meeting the after-life. The day the bell tolled for her death she sat on the ground, her hands skillfully working a piece of dough. It was naan-bread for her family. I sat behind her and watched her back. I sighed.

Ashriwa stopped rolling the dough as she slowly looked around in the small room. To my great surprise she looked me straight in the eyes. Humans very rarely allow themselves to feel the energy of death, that one would actually see me was very unusual. Only nine times before had a human seen me, despite my intention to remain hidden. My thoughts shattered as a man appeared in front of Ashriwa. He was my tool. The urge to collect the souls that beckon me does not always mean that I do the kill my self. Sometimes I use a pawn, but the satisfaction is always the same. The killing was over before it even began. The man stabbed her twice, and left her bleeding on the floor.  I could feel his heart beating fast, and the thrill mixed with Ashriwa´s fear was as sweet music to me. I kneeled next to her and touched her lightly on the check. I smiled. I kissed her eyelids and thanked her. A blue body of light was surrounding her, was in her. The blue light with Ashriwa in the middle was so large it covered the whole village she lived in. It was her soul.

She was still fearful. I beckoned to the soul, urged it to follow me. Nothing. This was a fighter. I caressed her soul, and my hold on her grew stronger. I breathed hard and inhaled her fear. I decided to release her the hard way. The sheer sense of power was overwhelming, and I trembled in ecstasy. I grabbed the body and ripped the soul away from it. Ashriwa sighed, and was dead. Her soul was now next to me.

For the second time she surprised me as she began to speak. “I thank you. Be blessed.” As she touched me, a light flashed in my mind. I opened my eyes and she was gone.

Within days after I collected her soul, I began to have this second need, but for what I didn’t know. A week after her death I had my first vision, or whatever you want to call it. I think her touch has poisoned me.

I was in a large hall. Faces were all around me and I could hear whispers. I was there to do something, or to experience something. A voice spoke to me.

“Is this your choice, from this tapestry of all that is, all that was and all that will come, do you choose this?” The voice was gentle, loving. I said yes.

“Your will is my will. Let it be done.”

I am a demon. I should not know fear, but the first vision I had scared me. Was I going mad? I still collected the souls of those who were supposed to die, but the fear, the anger and the struggle didn’t bring me joy as it had before. Instead I pondered at the meaning of the visions. Had I failed my Lord, or was this a sort of punishment from God?

“What is the meaning of all this?” The voice spoke to me, and filled me with bliss. I answered.

“I want to create my self anew. I want to experience the part of you and me that is known as great power.” The being hugged me. “It is a wonderful thing to experience.”

I sit on a bench. Other people look at me, some whisper. I ignore them. Things are definitely wrong. I released a soul of a ten years old boy yesterday and felt nothing. No ecstasy, no joy, no nothing. Instead this unnerving feeling has grown inside me, this hunger for something more.  But that is not all. I had another vision this morning, a horrid one.

The voice was there again. He talked to someone else, but still it was me. It didn’t matter. I was content with the knowledge that it was soon my turn to discover myself. I heard the gentle voice say to the being that in a strange way was me:

“So you see, lovely little soul. There is no Devil.”

The being, understood. I understood.

I must truly be mad! How can this be? Did I not serve the Horned Beast? The thought made me laugh. Of course I did.

The visions come to me more often now. Maybe I should visit my Lord again, to take solace in his embrace. I am a demon, one of his kind, surely my mission will become clear again when I see him. I sigh. How can I see my Lord, when I don’t even remember Hell.

A girl walks up to me and sits next me on the bench. I allow humans to see me now, so she begins to talk to me.

“Lovely day isn’t it?” She smiles. I look at her. She is at the most eleven years of age.  I shrug my shoulders, but decide to give her an answer.

“It’s a day like any other.” My eyes narrow and I carefully look at her.

“I doubt you are here to just to see another pretty face. Be gone little girl. Or is this another spiteful game your precious God has set up just to torment me?” She looks at me, her eyes full of understanding.

“Sometimes the soul gets lost in the illusion. After all it is a grand and wonderful illusion, is it not, soul collector? I am the Awakening of Souls.” She offers me her hand. I hesitate for a moment, then I take her hand in mine.

“I am ready to experience great power.” The man looks at me, and smile. “Remember my soul, my sweet angel, that your memory will be lost. Can you tell me why you have to forget.”  I smile back. “Yes. If my memory is whole, I will see through the illusion. I need the illusion to experience power, and not only have the abstract knowledge of power.”

He laughs with mirth. “Yes, and in your darkest hour, remember that you are a creature of light, a soul, like everybody else.”

I close my eyes. “I will remember, I promise.”

The girl lets go off me. I open my eyes, which are now filled with tears. I understand.

I finally understand my strange visions and my mission. I laugh and thank Ashriwa Rajjin and the girl. There is no horned beast, and no hell. I understand now, that the demon I thought I was, instead turned out to be one of God’s angels.