Death.
Death.
Death.
That's all I've ever known. Death and loss and grief. But no pain. I feel nothing.
I felt nothing as I watched that man die. I did not fear the consequences. I did not think to help him. He died as all men do. Useless.
Death is all I know. Death is all I feel.
It comes for me. It comes for me each day. It's so used to winning, it can't handle the fact that it's losing.
But it is losing. It's losing severely. And I'm beating it.
I have never killed, but I have caused death.
Day after day the spirt comes for me and day after day I evade.
Many a man would ask how I do this. And many a man would be surprised to know it takes but one life. For each time the spirit approaches, I simply misdirect it. Be it pulling a man into a construction sight I was meant to walk through. Or pushing a man into the street and waiting for the satisfying crunch of bones.
That's all it was anymore. Satisfaction.
The feeling of organs bursting. Of bones cracking and crumbling. Of skulls braking.
I am not a killer, but I have caused men to be killed.
Fate is cruel, but I am crueler.
Death never losses. But It losses to me.