Vengeance

A man walks into the room where you are, crosses his arms and looks down to you, while you sit with your leg crossed over the other. He is of rather imposing stature, being six foot and one inch tall, muscular arms crossed over his chest, with the muscles underneath his tanned skin bulging with the definition. Your eyes travel to his broad shoulders, then to his slightly un-shaven face where a thick five o;clock shadow rests. Finally into his deep brown eyes you gaze, catching a hint of sadness behind the sharp glint within.

"What do I do?" The man asks, his normally jovial tone replaced with a gravelly hue, with an undertone of malice finding its way through.

You shrug, then reach over and grab your drink from the small table next to you, stalling for time with the hopes that he will answer the question himself.

As the cool liquid runs down your throat, he speaks again. "I gave her up in recognition of my duty. While there may be others that can and will ride in my stead, none can compare to the skill I posses, or my track record of missions accomplished, disasters averted, or lives saved. And while I have a duty to perform, I lust after the normalcy she offers. I lust after waking up in the morning and instead of cleaning weapons in preparation for the nights mission, taking my children to school in the crappy minivan God has so generously supplied."

He sits, while you gaze still, running his large hand through his dark brown locks. A sigh escapes him, then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of his chin. "I live a life of vengeance. Not for myself, but for others. The wrongs done to me will never be avenged, as no one cares enough to do so. I live a life of death. Not my own but of others. Oh, how I sometimes long for that steel of the blade or heaviness of the lead bullet that will one day pierce my body and release me from my torment. But every time I consider turning or ducking just a bit to slow, to feel the bliss of the pain, then the blessed nothingness, her emerald, azure, and limestone eyes pass through the fore of my minds eye, and that speeds me on. To turn quickly and grab the hand that wields the blade, or to hit my knees as the tracer passes over me, causing a warm breath of wind on my cheek."

He stands, agitated, and starts to pace the room, fingers groping in the right pocket of his dark blue jeans, his black boots thumping on the carpeted floor. A red and black butterfly knife glides out of his pocket and is balanced between his fingers, precariously tipping to and fro, gravity laying its claim on the mass of steel and aluminum. With a flick of his fingers, the knife starts its dance, opening and closing with the clank of metal as it flies through the air. So fast your human eyes cannot follow, a testament to the annoyance he feels at lifes cruel pulling of the strings.

The knife stops, and his head hangs, his eyes boring into the carpet. You fidget after a moment, and the brush of the fabric you wear against the leather of the chair snaps him back to reality. His eyes find yours, a heart wrenching sadness now prominently displayed in them. "What did I do? Why can I protect those who live in happiness, but can not wrench a small amount for myself? Do I deserve this?"

You stand and move to him, but in a flash, the cool steel of the knife points to your chest, freezing you in your tracks. You glance back at him, worry etching across your features, to find the sadness gone. In its stead lies hate, malice, and anger. Having full knowledge of the capabilities of this man when he is angry, you retreat a step, raising you hands to calm him, but to no avail. Through gritted teeth he hisses. "No. Do not pity me. My hand has been dealt, and I will play according to fate. But to those who would do harm, I will be unceasingly cruel, as I need an outlet for my grief."

The man removes his dark shirt, and the dim light around him seems sucked into the garment underneath. You gasp, recognizing the suit when you see it, knowing full well what it is. Knives litter its surface, not one glinting in the light, the powder coating removing all elements of chrome or silver.

"Someone dies tonight," He says, before turning and walking from the room, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. Letting out the breathe you did not know you held, you sink back into your chair, thanking God his quarrel was not with you.

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Hey everyone. This was actually my attempt at poetry. Tell me how I did?