In my possession is a notebook. A special notebook with the ability to **** anybody whose name is written in it. I've had this skill forever, and every **** remembered. I told myself I would use this skill responsibly. So I started putting names in the notebook only of people I thought deserved to be in there. Killers and rapists. Crooked cops and corporate thieves. I've done this so long, it's natural to me now. I've never had a great struggle with it. I always justified it by saying they deserved it. That the world is better off.
There's been a string of murders lately. Horrible, gruesome murders. To this date, the murders were the worst. And at the list of awful humans, this killer was the first, at the top, i wished he'd rot, he'd get caught by honest cops but I digress.
It's probably for the best because I'm justifying again. This killer was the worst.
One starry summer night, after hanging with the guys, my best friend and I were both sitting outside. Both drunk and incoherent, liquor lowered defense, my buddy with excuses, then off he went. He left behind his wallet. I picked it up and followed. It took me a while but I caught him. But the next scene was surprising. The tension kept on rising. My friend was standing over a corpse. Dark red liquid was slowly pouring out. Then suddenly it made sense. My friend was the killer. The one that I was after. Worst of all, the corpse, it was my lover. My rage was quickly growing. My ire surely showing. That's when I reached out for my notebook. But as I grabbed my pen and as I opened the pages...
I stopped and hesitated....