Violent Tendencies

“You all ask the exact same questions and expect an answer.” I tsk. “What does it matter? You’ll be dead soon.”

The fucker throws his head back and laughs at my revelation. “Dead?”

“Yeah.” I pull the knife out of its holster on my hip and point it at his face.

The smile falls from his mouth and his eyes darken with anger. I watch as he lifts one of his hands toward me and I swing the blade, cutting across the flesh at his wrist. The blood spurts and rapidly flows from the open arteries, hitting the pavement in large splatters.

His other hand grabs his wrist and I laugh as the blood oozes out around his fingers. He looks up at me with shock lining his features and leans over to puke at my feet. Lovely.

I knee him in the forehead and he falls back against the wall, his arms flying to his sides. Like taking candy from a fucking baby.

I bend down and grab his uncut wrist, slowly running the knife’s edge over the skin, watching as it splits apart. He moans and tries to sit up but I’ve given him a few good cracks on the head, not to mention how drunk he is.

The blood pools around his hand and his body begins to twitch as death enters his limbs. I pull my finger through the crimson fluid and draw a scythe into the ground. Then I rise, wipe the blood off the blade with his shirt, and tuck it back in the holster.

I leave the alley whistling softly and planning my next hit.