i. he could read people even before he had held a book in his hands. no puzzle is easier to solve, because humans want to be known. there's almost a desperation in the habits, like it's their only semblance of control. his mother always caressed his face with her left hand, just like his father always hit hardest with the right. when he killed him, he too remembered which knuckles to crush first.
ii. "monster," they say. so many skeletons in their closets and yet they hide under their bed from him. he doesn't mind. after all, no one fits the role like he does. kindness can turn into violence in the blink of an eye, that he knows. you become what you have to be to survive.
iii. his heart is so rotten it falls into pieces inside of him. more, he needs more, but he doesn't know what. he's never had much of a reason to kill, but he's always searched for a reason to live. every time the clock ticks his knife inches closer to his throat. when the blood pours out of his arteries, even that will turn black.
iv. men made out of shadows never last long in the light.
v. before love, before anything, all he was was a boy. at the end of this, he will be no one at all.