The knife feels heavy in my hand, making me unsure of myself. No. I can and will do this. He deserves it, right? I feel that familiar grim smile wash over my yellowing teeth, my cracked lips curling. This job should be fun, I think, as I run my thumb over the blade, sharp as ever. I look at the handle and think, "This is for you, dad." I nod to myself as I sweep a glance around my apartment, fearing for the last time, as I hope that my promise to my deceased father will finally be achieved and vengeance will be mine. As I slip out the door, I silently hope he'll finally be proud of me. I'll kill his killer. As I make my way to the elevator, I wonder, if I do this, am I any better than the man who killed my father?