My Personal Hitman
We entered the room; and there we saw an ominous man clad in a suit of onyx black, his face hidden in the shadows. Two animals rested on his lead encrusted throne. On his right sat the singing nightingale; plucking our hearts with her alluring song. On his left, the raven with its beady black eyes. Not a single muscle did it move nor a single breath did it take. It just stood there, watching, waiting.
The man seemed to smile as we drew closer. With a raspy deep voice he asked, "Tell me, have you ever killed a man with nothing but, a piece of sharpened wood?"
I said nothing.
The man sighed and continued, "When I was young, I killed a boar with a wooden stake from the branch of an Australian Buloke. Ofcourse, the creature didn't die quickly; it trashed and squealed until it slowly bled out. When my father saw that, he grabbed the boar's head and said: 'Son, when you kill an animal don't prolong its suffering. The next time you end a boar's life, deeply slit its throat. Start from one ear, then travel towards the other.' " He chuckled at the thought of his memory. "Funny how I used his advice on a man instead."