To wish Death upon a man is an evil thing.
It is despicable, and a hateful thing. It'll scrape away at your very being until the hate reaches your soul, and rots away the pillars that keep you alive.

It has, almost silently, been asserted that I am insane.
I have become aware of these whisperings.
But I hear every word. No mind is safe, yet still, still they dare to tell me that I am deranged.
No. I was, and remain, in perfect, painful sanity.
My mind is a dagger, cold and razor sharp.

A dagger, silently baying for blood.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!