An Exercise in Destruction

The dream woke me, and it took me a few moments to even realize that I had fallen asleep. It was the same dream, the one that had haunted me for that half decade, and was surely going to continue until I could exact justice upon those who had destroyed my life.

I had only sat down against one of the old warped beams in the barn for a moment before unknowingly slipping into the familiar agony of my nightly prison. It was bad enough to have been locked in a dark hole for so long. I had escaped that hole, thanks greatly to an old rogue who had nothing left to do in life but to share his knowledge.

Once I had grasped his teachings, removing myself from the penitentiary was simple, child's play even.

Nevertheless, I was still a prisoner. There was a far greater cage that I needed to escape from; that which enveloped my every waking moment, and fastened me so painfully to the past in even the most abrupt repose.

Notwithstanding the tortures of slumber, rest was indeed needed if I was to bring my new skills to fruition.

I was no fool, I did not particularly intend on winning back all that I had lost. The years in prison had surely swayed my moral compass, or perhaps it was the wallowing in grief and hatred. In any case, this was not a mission of retrieval, it was most definitely an exercise in destruction; and surely not a swift and exact destruction. This was to be a demolition, a slow, calculated surgery of which the patient would sense nothing but the most acute and piercing pain. Nor did I have any intention on harming anyone physically, at least not if I had no need to. No, with the tools bestowed upon me by my fellow captive, I had laid out a plan of deceit and con that would rival all the misadventures of humanity combined.

I planned to attack the most soft and sensitive part of my preys metaphysical existence.

The heart.



The End

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