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.

Advertisements

The Tightrope Walker

Parched was his throat,

and his stomach funnily growled,

the sound of which was drowned,

in the pandemonium of the crowd.

 

His feet started to tremble,

the sun too strong on his slender body.

He couldn’t do this anymore,

walking on this thin rope high up in the air.

 

He pleaded with his eyes,

but a glare from his master silenced him, perhaps forever.

 

One more step and he felt light, his body floating through the air,

one last thud, and he smiled, his sorrows over for a lifetime.