Lucius Vanderwell -- District 7

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You wake up in a bed of leaves. Around you rests eerie silence and ominous darkness, and as your pupils dilate and adjust to the alteration you realize that daylight has fallen and evening has risen from its temporary grave. The moon shines like nature’s torch, its brilliance basking the forest with a pale glow, and heavily grown branches create a canopy over the area, forcing this light to create tricky shadows dancing upon the rocks and trees. Heart pounding anxiously in your chest, you rise slowly to you feet, unaware of the stranger approaching from behind.

You feel pinpricks of cold tingling along your back; that sensational illusion you experience whenever you feel that somebody is watching you. Suddenly, you don’t feel so alone anymore, and as you turn around your muscles tense in preparation to face whatever creature dared to creep up on you. When you see that it is an adolescent boy - a pale figure embraced with shadows - your heart skips a beat, for he is closer then you would’ve ever imagined. He stares at you, void of emotion, and the first feature you notice is the color and shape of his hair. It is black - black as the malevolent shadows threatening to lunge at your innocent heart - with a mess of waves long enough to cover his eyes if he styled it that way. Upon this matt of hair untamed by the forest is also a faint glisten, but not so much a glisten from the moonlight as a glisten from accumulating oil. He is a dirty creature of the forest, that is plainly obvious, but it is his eyes that make your blood run cold and your face grimace. Realization seizes you when you get a glimpse of the emptiness; the hollowness of two sapphire eyes that carry nothing but its color. You see nothing when you look into those eyes. No emotion, no passion, no interest, no mysterious glow. Just glazed irises. He is a boy without a soul.

He beckons you with one long, slender finger. You suspect that his intentions are malicious, yet you find yourself walking forward as if a magnetic force is tugging your heartstrings. As you approach him you notice the smudges of dirt staining his pale skin, and the small, dainty freckle on his right cheek. The details of his face are too intriguing to ignore; his narrow jaw, his large nostrils, the pair of chapped lips that are curled into a crooked and untrustworthy smile that sends chills surging through your spine. He is tall - taller than you, but not by much - with long arms and legs that move stiffly like scrawny toothpicks. You can see beneath the worn clothes that his bones are padded with some sort of muscle, but not much, and if he wasn’t so filthy and tainted with the stench of the forest you might’ve called him handsome. But there is nothing handsome about his expression. The lack of luster in his eyes are unsuitable to the malicious smile playing upon his pale lips, and when you move to take a step back he reaches a bony hand forward and snatches you by the arm with such force that it startles you. You do not expect such a starved-looking boy to hold such strength. It feels like he is trying to crush the very bones in your wrist.

He leads you through territory that is vivid and welcoming beneath sunlight, but treacherous and frightening beneath moonlight. In this darkness every shadow seems wicked, every sound a threat, and every movement a crouched beast waiting to pounce. You follow him only because you are too much of a coward to struggle - because the death-grip seizing your wrist seems to drain the courage out of your pounding heart. You pass trees with strange markings carved into their skins, and soon discover that they are drawings forged by the human hand, each depicting an image of two people. One is always a male. The two of you travel too swiftly to catch more than a glimpse of these carvings, but when you near one of them you see not only a man, but a woman perched upon her knees, hands bound behind her and head extended to the stars as if asking for one last wish. The image makes your skin crawl and your throat clench. Faintly, you wonder if what you saw was a hallucination, and begin to pray that it is.

When he pauses and releases your hand, you do not flee. Instead, you find yourself drawn to a large tree with one long streak carved around it’s base, appearing as if a snake is wrapped around it. Beneath it, you see rows of tally marks and a name etched beneath them; Lucius Vanderwell. The pace of your heart quickens when you realize that you’ve heard the name before.


”Who are they, mom?” You sit with your elbows propped against the counter while mother washes the silverware. The Vanderwells had become a topic of discussion after an incident had left you baffled and curious. Instead of seeming eager, or talkative, your mother frowns and shifts her gaze to the floor. ”They are a religious cult. They worship some sort of nameless deity they call “Him”, and follow customs that are different from our own” The word “cult” jolts you brain, making you feel as if even mentioning the Vanderwell name is dangerous. You cannot stifle your curiosity, though, and continue to press the subject further. “What kind of customs?”

”Well, they can only use things that are made by the earth, like sticks and rocks.” She furrows her brow and concentrates too furiously on the task at hand; a sign that she is troubled. ”It’s also rumored that they live in the forest, but I think that’s a bit ridiculous. Nobody could survive out there.” You wonder for a moment if it is possible to live in the forest, and try to imagine life through their eyes. ”Why are you bringing this up, anyways?” She interrupts your thoughts with a stumping question. You don’t wish to reveal why the Vanderwells were brought up - it feels too personal. “I just heard a few rumors about them at school, that’s all,” you say, all the while feeling guilty for lying through your teeth. This seems to relieve your mother with comfort, for she releases a quiet sigh and loses the tension in her muscles. ”Good. I don’t want you hanging around those children - especially the one named Lucius.” Just when you thought your curiosity spell had been broken, mother manages to create another spark. Whenever a single member of a family is singled out, it is never for a good reason. “Why?”

”Because he is the most disturbed of them all. Rumor has it that he calls himself a “Punisher”, and attacks those who don’t follow the ways of his deity. I’ve seen him around the district a few times; he just stands there and stares at people. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t smile, he just stands and watches, like he’s some kind of animal stalking prey.” Mother’s eyebrows furrow. Something about this boy deeply concerns her, and you can see why. He sounds like the cold, calculating type. A people-watcher with malevolent intentions. Not somebody you want to trifle with. ”There is no proof regarding the rumors of him attacking people, but a friend of mine once told me that she heard screams coming from the forest one time, and only a few minutes later, she saw him walk out of it.” She stops cleaning and looks you right in the eyes. ”Whether it’s true or not, I don’t want you going anywhere near him, do you hear me? Even if he isn’t a murderer, he’s still dangerous. I could sense it when I met him..”

”You met him?” The surprise overwhelms you. Mother actually spoke to the boy? How could she? Why would she? ”Sort of. I didn’t actually talk to him, we just made eye contact. I accidentally tripped and fell in front him, and when I looked up he was staring at me with this grin on his face like he was enjoying it…” Enjoying it? How could somebody enjoy watching somebody hurt themself? Was he a…what is the word for it… “Is he a sadist?”

Mother sighs and ponders for a moment before parting her lips once again. ”He might be. And that’s exactly why I don’t want you anywhere near him. He might try to hurt you.” You nod your head and silently promise not to associate yourself with him, but mother seems unconvinced. ”I’m being serious. He is a very intelligent boy - too intelligent for his age - and if he wants to hurt you, he’ll find a way.”

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And then you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach that the boy who is breathing into your neck is the same boy your mother had warned you about. The boy with no emotions. The boy with no compassion, no empathy, no sympathy or love for anything but the art of murder. The boy who is immune to fear and allergic to kindness. The boy who relies on stealth, trickery, and calculation as his companion rather than impulse. The boy who would love to see your blood spill for the sake of his deity, and perhaps, his own sadistic lust that he keeps separated from the real world. He has always said that he has “seen things”. Things that certainly don’t belong in the real world; just proof that his mind is more disturbed then anybody had imagined. You know nothing of his strength or his fighting ability, but when you turn to face him you cannot help but feel overwhelmed by frozen terror.


”You know who I am, don’t you?” He presses the tip of a wooden blade against the side of your lip. Wood isn’t as sharp and lethal as metal, but you aren’t going to take your chances by attempting an escape. Wood or not, you can feel its deadly point against the inside of your lip, and you wish not to underestimate its abilities. You merely nod your head silently. ”Let me guess, it was your mother who told you?” You don’t react. ”Your eyes tell me that I am correct.” His lips curl into a wicked smirk. The fact that he can read you like an open book frustrates you, and you only wish that you can smother your emotions with courage to veer him off course. He suddenly chuckles to shatter the brief silence. ”Parents are merely channels. My mother served her purpose by birthing my kin, whilst my father is the puppet through which He passes on his wisdom and teachings.” He speaks of them without a drop of compassion, as if they are disposable and worthless to society. As if they were not real people. ”You see, the Vanderwells were chosen by Him to change the world of sinners. To merge His world with your world and cleanse it of its impurities.”

Everything he says is nonsense. You don’t believe any of it. He is a disturbed boy suffering from delusions, and there is nothing he can say to convince you otherwise. Yet, he presses further. ”Thou shalt not trust. Thou shalt not mourn. Thou shalt not express, experience guilt, or take pleasure in anything other than serving Him. And thou shalt possess the right to punish those who betray the law.” The word “punish” makes your spine quiver. You don’t want to know what the punishment is, but deep down, you already know what it is. Death.
”These are the laws your world must abide by, and the laws my kin have followed since the dawn of existence floated above our eyes. Of course, not all of them remain as loyal as they once promised…” His voice trails off, the force of his grip weakening for a few moments. You hope that he will withdraw the knife and spare your precious life, but in a place like this, hope fades too quickly.

”Aelia, Nero, and Tatiana remain obedient to Him, as they should. Those must be his siblings. Yes, you recognize the names. But aren’t there more? ”However, Caeleus, my eldest brother, and Valentina, my youngest sister, are slipping away from their beliefs. I can already sense that in the near future they will betray our customs and turn their backs on Him.” A flavor of bitterness drips like venom between his lips, warning you that now is the best time to keep silent and listen despite his rambling consisting of nothing but nonsense and delusional fantasy. ”But that is why I am here.” The vile smirk returns and brightens his eyes, sending another abnormal chill surging through your spine. ”I am The Punisher. It is my destiny and responsibility to execute His punishments upon those who betray, deceive, and lose faith.”

There he goes with the punishments again. What was he trying to lead himself to with this one-way conversation? Were you supposed to absorb his words and change from this experience? Is he even going to grant you a second chance? Or is he merely wasting your precious time and planning to end it all with a wooden blade in your throat? He answers your question by pressing the edge of the blade more firmly against your lips, which have begun to shed the tiniest droplets of blood. With the taste of iron mixing with your saliva, you swallow empty air and find yourself pinned against one of the carved trees.

”Where is your faith, deary? Invested in a Lord fabricated by your fellow imbeciles? Conformity can be a deadly act, lost one.” Lost one? Are you lost? You might as well be. You decide not to reply, in fear of his possible reaction. What if your response enrages him? No, you could not take that chance - it is far too risky. Instead, you merely return his blank stare, trying your hardest to shield the terror within. ”It is a misfortune that you have spent your years aging in an environment where lies were spoon-fed to you by misguided souls. If you had been born in my shoes, you would have experienced the truth by this point in time. You would understand why The Church is our post prized material possession, and why the depths of the forest is a second home to us. You would have beheld the visions He graced me with, and discovered your true purpose in the world. He shifts ever so slightly on his toes, as if prepared to strike. ”It is a shame that a woman like you has been deemed unworthy of a second chance. I sense a faint trace of potential in you.." There is no mistaking the searing pain in your cheek as the flames of pleasure dance within his cruel eyes. Thou shalt not take pleasure in anything but serving Him.

But you don't just kill for Him; you kill for fun. And if you kill for fun, doesn't that make you a sinner?

You question is never answered.

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