1
Indie
River – Bishop Briggs
Myhandswillforeverbe stained with blood.
My soul eternally corrupted by the slayings I’ve committed.
If you were to ask me if I regret any of it?
I’d tell you no.
Because my intentions are pure.
To rid the world of people likethem.
Who take and destroy and never face the consequences of their actions.
I know that kind of makes me a hypocrite—I’ve never been caught yet either.
But where my entire purpose is centred around revenge, theirs is around exploitation.
They’ve been corrupted by their greed, their power.
Theirsecret.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out they’ve been conditioned that way. The evidence I have proves it.
The average person might listen to this and think I’m crazy, but I’m not.
My sanity is fully intact.
The only person who can truly judge me is the devil, and he’d probably welcome me with open arms.
“Pl-Please.”
I roll my eyes at the waste of a man slurring a plea in front of me. Clutching his side to contain the blood pooling out of it, his unsteady feet crunch in the shattered whiskey glass on the once pristine floor.
Scarlet liquid drips onto the crystalware, spreading the shards out like a pocket of the rarest diamonds.
How pathetic.
Imagine, having all this money and power, and you choose to have plain old, tiled floors. Where is the marble?
Where’s the shiny reflective natural stone beneath your feet? The material so expensive, you can see your reflection through the blood.
It’s sickeningly poetic to watch them see themselves, their lives flashing before their eyes. I wonder if they see all of their favourite memories.
Does it include milestones?
The moment they’d written their lives in sin?
Or are they filled with the same sick thrill they got when they assaulted innocent women?
Hell, there might be a dozen of them. I didn’t dig back that far. The results that pulled up on his report for the date I had in mind were enough for me.
A pitiful laugh leaves me as he watches with unfocused eyes. I guess I’ll never know if it contains the good times.
