Writing prompt 6

[WP] As death, you should be numb to the cruelty of humans you're exposed to on a daily basis. You come across a butchered body of a small child in the woods and the murderer running away from the scene. You have the ability to take anyone's life without consequence. What do you do? by everythingskulls in WritingPrompts

“Come with me little one.” She placed her tiny hand trustingly in mine. We both stood and watched her murderer run from the scene.
“He’s a bad man.” She lisped then stuck a pudgy thumb in her mouth.
“Indeed.”
“He hurt me.” She turns her huge eyes up to me and I watch the dying moments of her life in her memories. “It doesn’t hurt now.”
Humans are complex creatures and far too often they use violence in the most abhorrent ways. Little of what they do surprises or moves me. I have seen child victims too often for this one to be any more or less horrific than the others but today I am edgy. Something about this murder, in this dark dank part of old growth forest, tugs at me. Life is such a precious gift I wonder why humans waste it so easily. I guide those who need to pass over I do not take lives but I am reminded that I am capable of taking a life with impunity if I choose to. I gently squeeze the child’s hand and walk her through to the light then come back to watch the murderer.
He is scrubbing his hands. He looks up at his reflection and sees me standing behind him. His eyes widen and he stops moving. I fade out and he resumes his scrubbing after a short hesitation. The child’s blood pours down the drain with the water. I watch him throw his clothes in the machine with plenty of bleach and powder. He puts it on a hot wash. I lock the electricity in place and he begins to punch the machine when it does not start. He kicks it and leaves the laundry. In the kitchen he starts to make coffee. His hands are shaking so much the sugar spills across the bench. I move the sugar into the face of a skull. He stares at it the wipes it off the bench with the side of his hand. He finishes making his coffee and I switch the kettle back on. He flicks it off. I switch it back on. He snarls and throws the kettle across the room, splashing boiling water over everything in its path to the final destination lodged in the plaster of the far wall. I wander into the living room and switch on the giant tv screen. “What the-?” he rushes into the room and trips over my foot which he can’t see of course. He plants his face in the rug and I hold him there for a minute while he struggles to get up. Dog hair and old food are embedded in the fibers which find a new home in his nostrils and mouth. I let him up. He lumbers to his feet and looks around warily. I flick through the channels, stopping at words to send a message to him. I could just manifest and speak to him but it isn’t as much fun. ‘murder –know – where you – old forest – child – murderous –.” He backs out of the room, throwing the remote at the screen. I make sure it lands without breaking anything. He slams the front door so hard it bounces open again but he doesn’t stop to shut it. I watch him spray gravel across the driveway as he takes off in his truck. I make friends with his dog. I like dogs. The dog is rib thin. I will come for him soon, In the pub, the murderer is on his fourth beer. He is sweating. A bubble of isolation has formed around him. His belligerence acts as a force field keeping others instinctively away. He glances up to the mirror behind the bar and sees me sitting beside him. He yells and falls from the bar stool. Other patrons glance over and frown but no one approaches or offers a hand. I stare at him and he scuttles backwards away from me. “Get away. Get out of my head.” I stand up and move slowly toward him so he leaps to his feet and runs for the door. He calls to others to help keep me away from him but they move away as if his madness is catching. He climbs in his truck and guns the engine. I sit beside him as he careens down the highway. Blue and red lights flash behind him. He puts his foot harder on the accelerator and the truck lurches wildly. The police give chase. He glances in the rear view mirror and sees me. He screams. He drags the wheel to one side as he tries to turn and see me. The truck flips and rolls down an embankment. I make sure he is not hurt. Not even a scratch. The police drag him from the wreckage. A pink ribbon flutters out of the wreckage to his feet. One police officer picks it up, staring at it then him and back to the ribbon. “Where is she, bastard?” They cuff his arms behind him and push him into the back of the police car. They call the station and report the wreckage and the ribbon. I sit beside him for the journey. He knows I am there. I let him see me a little. Occasionally I appear to him as the little girl and he starts to moan. “Shut up! I don’t want another sound out of you until you tell me where she is.” one of the police officers yells. The car takes a few corners too sharply and the murderer is knocked around in the back seat. Hundreds of pink ribbons float eerily slow from the roof to his lap, piling up on him like fairy floss. He starts to scream but cannot brush them off while his hands are cuffed. The police call through that they may need a medic. The pink ribbons evaporate and turn to forest moss that covers all his clothes and arms, creeping up his neck to his face. Worms slide into his ears and leeches move in slimy loops up to his face. Blood begins to seep out of his skin. He thrashes and tugs to break free. The legal and medical process is as complex as the people. He breaks down and confesses. They find the remains of her mutilated body. They declare him fit to stand trial. I pop in now and then to check the progress. He is in solitary confinement where I visit him and sit on his commode while he screams. He is facing the death penalty.
Humans are such cruel creatures. They have taught me so much.
I will come for him when they have done the job.