• Dead Is Better

    My dignity.
    My honor.
    My respect.
    My daughter.
    He stole them all away from me.
    I will get my revenge,
    I will gain my dignity,
    My respect,
    My honor.
    But not my daughter. Shes gone.
    I will kill him.



    Blake was strolling. It was late, he knew if he did not get home soon this area would become dangerous. The stars shined in the ebony sky.
    Blake made good money.
    He was a hit man.
    Killing was his living.
    He was a killing machine.
    Blake lost count of how many lives he had stolen. How many lives he put in hell.
    Recently, a man going by the name of Picolitrosso, had been Blake's Victim.
    In a Undignified way.
    He took the life of Picolitrosso's daughter.
    The man who hired Blake, had been Picolitrosso's Employee. He fired him.
    That job was the only thing keeping the man off the streets.
    This man, was quite the smart one.
    He knew Picolitrosso was very dignified.
    He knew Picolitrosso did not value life as much as the normal human.
    So, he hired Blake, to kill his daughter.
    To put Picolitrosso in misery.
    To put him in pain.
    To put him in depression.
    To put him in hell.
    This loss, awakened the darkness in Picolitrosso.
    Picolitrosso was quite kind. He was friendly to others. He did not like causing pain.
    His daughter lived a beautiful life.
    She was 7 years old, And beautiful. She gained Blonde hair and blue eyes from her father.
    Picolitrosso spoiled her. But still, she also inherited his halcyon kindness.
    Picolitrosso's wife had been beautiful as well. Her hair was a shining black, and her eyes a serene green. She had died giving birth to Picolitrosso's daughter.
    Picolitrosso lived months upon months in misery.
    His hatred slowly growing.
    His heart darkening.
    He was going insane.
    Finally, Picolitrosso searched through his kitchen. He found a huge bread knife.
    Picolitrosso had known Blake killed his daughter.
    He knew where Blake lived.
    Picolitrosso walked through the night.
    Carrying the bread knife, holding it like a sword.
    He knocked on Blake's Door.


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    Picolitrosso's Narration


    I gently knocked on Blake's door. Ready to kill.
    I could hear footsteps.
    After several seconds, I heard the door knob creak.
    “Hello.” Blake said calmly.
    I stared for a moment, the knife in hand. Blake did not notice for some odd reason.
    “Is there something wrong with you?” Blake questioned rudely.
    Suddenly, With a burst of adrenalin, I tackled him to the ground
    Rage glowed in my eyes.
    “GO TO HELL SON!” I screamed.
    I stabbed Relentlessly at him, ignoring where my blade went. My eyes welled up in tears, I had no idea what I was doing.
    I could smell his hot blood. I could feel it spilling on my hands.
    I could hear him screaming. My tears dropping off my face into the puddle of blood bubbled up on his chest.
    After several minutes of tearing him apart, I stood up. And looked the red work of art I stained on his tiled floor.
    His eyes were open in alarm. Laying in a puddle of blood, he had no movement.
    I lifted my middle and index finger, and gently moved them down his bloody chest.
    Bringing my hand to my face, I slowly licked the blood from my fingers.
    The stench of death and decay filled the room.
    I stood up, turned the knob of his front door, and stepped outside. The fresh air filled my scent.
    I began to walk home. Looking at what I'd done. The smirk I once bared died from my face.
    And I frowned with watery eyes, walking home, I knew my life was destined for hell.
    The revenge did not help. I did not feel better. Or worse. I felt the same.
    Nothing had changed. I killed Blake, but my daughter was still gone.
    Maybe, revenge was a idiotic idea. Maybe it was wrong. I'm sorry Blake. I'll see you in hell.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------
    Narration

    Later the next day, Picolitrosso was brought to trial.
    He was charged for a planned murder.
    His destiny lay in the electric chair.
    Revenge never helps.
    And sometimes, Dead is better.