The Cursed Grimoire

"Why are humans so cruel?"

"My peaceful world, destroyed by deceitful and greedy people."

"is this world even worth living in?"

"The only solution that comes to mind is to find serenity by jumping off a building and hugging the ground."

These swirling thoughts calculated in Damon's mind as he pondered the alternative options between life and death.

A rustic knife was held to his neck, his hand trembling as the dagger moved closer. The blade itself had scratch marks from frequent sharpening to be able to perform easy cuts.

The knife rested on his throat, leaving a slight tear in his skin, and an insufficient amount of blood gushed out. Before the knife could be plunged further, he halted, realizing what he was subconsciously about to do.

"I can't kill myself," Damon said, retrieving the knife from his neck. "Killing myself will just prove that I was easily defeated. And they had won."

Amidst an eerie, dark, desolate alleyway with moldy walls, broken floor tiles, and rusty pipes dripping bacteria-infested water, Damon, in tattered clothes, sat with his head bowed in regret and pain.

His frail body made the clothes feel baggy and oversized. He had distinctive dark spiky hair, the color of unrefined crude oil. 

Buried memories of his life resurfaced as teardrops plummeted to the ground in a depressing rhythm.

...

"Damon, run! I am behind you!" a male voice shouted, using a large rod to fend off a creature thirsty for blood.

However, the next moment, an object landed in front of a younger Damon without any warning. 

Glancing at the projectile, which saw the head of the man, Damon was speechless.

Strangely, the expression on the head's face wasn't of shock or fear. Instead, there was a large, satisfying smile on his face.

"Daddy!" the child shouted, petrified at the sight. But the sound of a headless body collapsing to the ground, blood gushing out from the neck like a fountain, painted the floor red.

Then, gazing to the corner of the room, another body could be seen. Unlike the decapitated father, this female was completely mangled to a bloody mess, as if fed on by wild animals.

"M...m...mom," tears rushed out of the child's eyes as he fell to his knees, cuddling into a ball and shivering in fear.

The creature stood in front of the child, its crimson red eyes the only thing visible in the darkness. A smile plastered on its face.

It was about to lunge at the kid; however, a powerful bullet shot through the air, shattering the speed barrier, and exploded the creature's head like a cherry upon impact.

As men dressed in black rushed into the room, the boy fell unconscious.

Those memories haunted his existence, the merciless killing of his parents. Memories that never go away.

...

After calming down, Damon used a cloth to wipe away the blood on his neck before discarding it. He took a bit of dirt from the ground, applying it gently to the wound on his neck.

He did not care if it got infected; at least it would bring him closer to death, something he didn't have the will to accomplish.

Others like him, who were tired of this world, could easily achieve the task. He just had to feel a little sharp pain, and the pain would eventually go away, never to be felt again.

In fact, all the feelings of regret and sorrow would be vanquished with one clean cut to the throat.

Because they would be dead. And the dead don't feel pain.

While Damon was in thought, something he always did, a rat that seemed to have suffered a third-degree burn stealthily walked by, limping on one leg from past dangerous encounters.

Its hair had already fallen out, displaying pale skin from lack of nourishment. People might see this sight and feel disgusted, but for Damon, he saw:

"Dinner!"

Gripping his rustic knife, Damon decided to hunt. Wallowing in sorrow wouldn't fill his belly, but that rat would.

Like a dominant predator sighting his prey in range, Damon leaped from his position to stab the rat.

The rat, seemingly at the last stage of its life, suddenly received a burst of adrenaline upon facing impending danger—a crazed human.

The rat jumped from its spot, literally springing to its step. The action was fast, avoiding the blade attack that hit the ground, creating a four-centimeter hole.

That could have been the rat's body.

There was one thing humans are most known to have: a strong will. Damon was not going to let this rat escape, or he would be hungry tonight.

Seeing that this approach wasn't working, Damon grabbed a rock and threw it at the rat.

With straight accuracy and precision, and a bit of dumb luck, the rock hit the rat square on the head, stopping its advancement as it stumbled and lay on the ground dead.

Living in the gutters, Damon had learned how to use a rock as a weapon. Unlike the knife, it was a long-range weapon, and there was no problem with reloading because there were literally millions of them lying on the ground anyway.

Damon took hold of the rat. "You bastard, think you could run from me?"

The dead rat was unable to respond because it was, well, dead.

With that, Damon created a bonfire to roast the meat. He gathered a few large rocks and some discarded plastic bags to start a fire.

Hitting two smooth stones that sparked upon impact, he made fire. Next, he cut open the rat and flushed out its insides, which had a high content of bacteria.

That could explain why he hadn't died of food poisoning.

With a steady wooden stick, Damon pushed it through the rat's mouth until it came out of the other end. He then placed it on the fire to roast it.

When the rat was cooked thoroughly, Damon started to chomp down his hard work. Savoring each bite with the smell of burnt flesh in the air, he swallowed in satisfaction. 

The sizable bones of the rat were crushed by his teeth, and the crunchy barbecued tail of the rat went to his belly.

After he was done, he laid down on the cold floor beside the fire to keep warm.

Ready for slumber.

"Today's a lucky day, to finally get something to eat. Starving for five days had taken its toll on me. Maybe that's why I decided to end myself," Damon thought. He decided to scavenge tomorrow, a rat couldn't fill his hunger.

***