You sit up in your bed and look at the form standing just inside the doorway. He is holding some sort of weapon. You wonder who he is, and what he wants, still shaking the sleep from your head. You wonder if he is someone the family sent for you. They've been after you. They want revenge.
"Who are you?" You ask. "What do you want?"
His voice is rough, as though he has needed a drink of water for days, but has ignored this basic need. "I have been following your trail for close to a week now." He says to you. "I have come to claim what is rightfully mine to take."
"And that is?" You ask.
"Your life." He tells you. He steps into the room and closes the door, you see light reflect off of a knife blade. "You took one of ours and now I must take yours."
"Then take it." You say, rising to your feet. "I don't really know that I want it anymore."
He charges forward at you with a primal growl, his knife poised above his head and ready to strike. The whole time he charges at you, your mind is flooded with the memories of the terrible deed you had done. Memories of the night that you took revenge upon the man who killed your wife through his own recklessness. You didn't know then who he was, and even if you did you're not sure that you would have cared in that moment of rage.
The man is almost upon you now, his arm ready to bring down the knife.
"Who are you?" You ask. "What do you want?"
His voice is rough, as though he has needed a drink of water for days, but has ignored this basic need. "I have been following your trail for close to a week now." He says to you. "I have come to claim what is rightfully mine to take."
"And that is?" You ask.
"Your life." He tells you. He steps into the room and closes the door, you see light reflect off of a knife blade. "You took one of ours and now I must take yours."
"Then take it." You say, rising to your feet. "I don't really know that I want it anymore."
He charges forward at you with a primal growl, his knife poised above his head and ready to strike. The whole time he charges at you, your mind is flooded with the memories of the terrible deed you had done. Memories of the night that you took revenge upon the man who killed your wife through his own recklessness. You didn't know then who he was, and even if you did you're not sure that you would have cared in that moment of rage.
The man is almost upon you now, his arm ready to bring down the knife.
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- ID: 29440
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