I think the thing I remember most about the home I once knew is the wonderful smells; bread baking, fields of morning glories, the warm smell of the afternoon rain. These things left an indelible imprint on me, working their magic upon a troubled youth.
I used to walk down to the railyard by the creek and watch as the revivalists held their baptisms in the cool water. I often thought as they did. I would sit and listen to them for hours on Sunday morning. Wondering if their God would accept someon like me. Thoughts of the Devil and sinners and the Lord in heaven filled my head. I would often wonder what heaven and hell are like. Milk and honey, fields of gold, the stench of burning flesh, the screams of the damned.
It was sitting by the creek under the shade of the old oak tree that I first laid eyes on her. She was a pretty thing, delicate lavender dress, big wondering eyes that looked as if the world held nothing but secrets for her to fathom. She was about sixteen or so and was attending one of the church functions with her family. She had a sister who was soft and fat and seemed to be the center of everyone's attention. Everyone's but mine.
I remember the smell of the food as the long tables were piled high with the delicious morsels. The food for the worth: the Godly. I had never seen so much food all in one place. Before I knew it, I had crept closer to the sweet rewards.
Just then she spied me. She curled her lips in a mischievous grin and waved me over. She acted shy but I knew that wasn't in her actual thoughts. She invited me to have some food as there was plenty to go round. I felt myself tremble at her nearness, but I accepted. She grabbed a plate and heaped it high with fried chicken and dumplings and homemade apple pie. Then she practically dragged me away to the edge of the railyard, away from the others.
She seemed fascinated by me. She gazed on as I devoured the feast. In between bites she would ask me questions. Who I was, where I came from, what did I do.
I did my best to entertain her, making up stories of heroes and adventure. Embellishing my humble beginnings for the sake of her rapt attention. She giggled with delight and would often spout, "Truly?" with wide-eyed wonder.
The day grew late and dusk came, bringing the smells of the night with it; cool air and the nearby river adding their scents to the mix. She pulled me to my feet and hugged me. I shivered.
"Are you cold?" she questioned, feeling my tremor.
"A little," I lied.
She just shrugged and pulled me closer into her. I felt my face flush. Knowing my shame. We could never be together. The people who traveled in her circles would never accept someone like me. Even though I know I am not on the road to hell, they would see me as a sinner. Someone unworthy.
I left her there by the banks of the river. I lay her gently down on the sweet wet grass, smelling her fragrance one last time. The sweet smells of my past mingling with it. Looking upon her as she lay quietly, almost like sleeping. Almost.
.
This short story is written from the villain's point of view. Sort of a flashback of a type of Hannibal character, both intelligent and psychotic. I was looking to create a recurring villain to provide a foil for a hero character.