I Don't Know If This Was Too Violent So I Marked It Mature

I had never felt quite so alive. Only with the blood on my hands, not of myself, but of my superior, did I feel truly among the living.

I had been slighted yet again by the man I was forced to call boss. I had been through this far too many times and wasn’t going to take it again. I stormed up several flights of stairs and to his condominium and burst through the locked pine door. I didn’t bother to be quiet, for the old man was mute and couldn’t cry out if he tried. I was amazed at my strength as I yanked him out of the four-poster brass bed, shattering it. I threw the man against the wall, and shards planted themselves in the man’s chest. With my hands on his shirt, I felt the warm blood flow onto my fingers and pool in my palms. I realized, when lightning illuminated his olive features, distorted with fear, that I had chosen to kill him in the middle of a thunderstorm. I threw him to the ground and watched as he slowly stopped moving, his chest raised for the last time. He was dead. I had killed him.

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