Fear For Me

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He stared at the same fucking walls day in and day out. The prison cell reeked of piss and vomit, and the heavy stench wouldn’t go away. Sunlight never came inside his cell—there was no window to let in anything sweet. Just those three fucking walls, a stained toilet, a bed, and the bars that kept him prisoner.

Day in and day out.

But he wouldn’t be prisoner for much longer. He’d planned. Prepared. His time was nearly at hand.

I’ll get them. Every damn one of them. They wouldn’t get away with what they’d done to him.

Yes, he’d make them pay, and he’d start with her.

His fingers curled around the shiv in his hand. He’d spent hours and hours carefully transforming the plastic spoon, turning it into the weapon he needed.

He preferred to hunt with a knife. He loved the feel of a knife in his hand. The hard, cold power of the blade.

He’d have a knife again. Soon enough. He’d feel the blade slice into skin. See the brilliant and beautiful red spray of blood.

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