Hell-Bent 1/2

He imagined strangling him.

“I’ll kill you, you lousy freakin’ bastard!”

His mind was re-iterating the horror. Every moment of it, bit by bit.

But that wasn’t all bad for him. For those memories were bitter-sweet.

Horrific as it may be, it wasn’t haunting him.

He liked the sound of the poor guy’s knuckles crack when he crushed his hand under his boot.

The barbarity of the act invigorated his spirit. Fueling raw anger.

One would think that he wasn’t in his senses when he was doing it. But John, very much, was.

He enjoyed every punch. Every smack on the face. Each one more vigorous than the one before.

The wretched guy suffered merciless blows. He had no escape.

He would’ve tried. But a part of him didn’t let him.

‘Let me Go!’, he screamed.

Mustering enough energy to plead for his life.

But John kept pounding him to death, bashing his skull as he lay crippled in a pool of blood.

‘Let me go, Please!’, he mumbled now.

But he kept on with it. He chose to.

He’d live to see his end. He was hell-bent.

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