#life Goes On The wind rises in the clearing in the woods. A man on his knees is begging for his #life. Frankie stands there holding a Colt 1911 up against the mans forehead. I've heard every excuse before, "I have family" or "I'll give you anything" it's amazing how low people sink when they think they have something worth living for. I say fuck it, were born to die, if I had a wife and I died shed already be bouncing on some one else's cock, #life goes on. "Jim, look I can do whatever you need me to do please, is there not a place in your heart that can forgive me?", pleads the man, shaking his clasped hands at me. "It's not me who's mad at you Rick so unfortunately your apologies are nothing to me, my employer is the one who's upset with you. I mean come on, you robbed one of his Poker games and your surprised this happens??? You were given a chance to pay up but no, you try and fuck him even more in the asshole", I explain. He dramatically rolls to the floor weeping. "Frankie get this over with will you it's cold out here." Frankie looks at me with an uncomfortable look on his face. I look on at him encouraging him to pull the trigger. The gunshot rolls through the woods, a second one follows, everything is calm again. I walk to the car and throw Frankie some gasoline. "Once you've cooked him up I could go for a steak, so hurry up."

"Blur" - Part One "Prolouge" I can't sleep. It's on my mind again. Why can't I just forget. I ask myself these questions every night, the response is always the same... Just light up a cigarette and forget about it. The flame illuminates the room in a warm sunset glow, the first lug gives me tingles. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch out my window; Frank the Butcher across the street is watching some cheap late night movie called "Elke", the story of a woman who solves a families relationship issues by moving in and sleeping with them, no more of a movie than a softcore porno. Michelle next door came home about an hour ago with her next piece of meat, the curtains are now closed, he must be having the time of his #life. I extend my focus beyond the street and focus on the city that sits there. It looks so far away, like its in a snow globe, the distant cars look like fairy lights slowly fading away... Just like everything in my #life. No, stop, stop feeling sorry for yourself, you have no-one to blame but yourself. I feel the warmth of the cigarette that is slowly coming to an end on my finger, I reach for the ashtray that sits on my bedside table. Something falls, the sound of glass cracking on the floor follows. I ignite my zippo and place it on the bedside table, it lights up enough just to see the photo frame lying face down, pieces of broken glass surround it. My heart sinks. I pick up the frame and to reveal the photo of a woman and a child. It looks like something out of a catalogue, it's a perfect photograph. I remove the photo from the frame and place it back on the bedside table to then be welcomed by a peculiar smell. The cigarette started to singe the hairs on my leg, I feel no pain. The butt burns on top of an old wound, I feel nothing on this part of my leg. I calmly pickup the end and flick it out of my window then begin to dust the ash off of my leg. I shut off the zippo and wait as my eyes quickly adjust to the sudden change of light and take one last glance out the window. Frank had paused the movie on this particular scene, I watched him rise out of his chair and close the curtains, to which I sniggered like an immature school boy... An experienced one. I was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a female shouting out her window, I look to the right to see Michelle's date running out of her house in his underwear, too much for him to handle I'd imagine. I look at the clock and notice its 1:30 in the morning, I have to be up early, Seth wants me in with him for a little trip out of town to visit a friend of his. I slide back into my duvet and stare up at the ceiling: "I'll be with you one day" My eyes close, and I slowly drift into another world.

Left For Dead Part 2 I finally wake up, my head feels 10 times it's normal size with a monkey in there hitting a triangle. I shield the light that's beaming from the ceiling into my eyes with my hand and try to collect my thoughts. I needed to talk to Henrique, find out what the fuck happened in my apartment, someone wanted me dead. I know I have done a lot of bad things; killed people, robbed people, tortured people, fucked people over... But it was my job. A mans gotta do what he's gotta do, I couldn't work behind no cash register or serve someone their meals, the moment some pompous asshole complains about the food I serve I'd smash the plate over his fucking head. I lived #life like it could end any minute of the day, I lived this way because I didn't want to end up like every other couch potato "American dreamer", stuffing my face with cheese burgers and happy meals. That attitude has got me where I am now though mind you, although a bullet in the arm is not a bullet to the head, so I ain't complaining. I manage to pick myself up off of the doctors table and I decided to stumble around for some medication for my head. I look down to see the doctor, only to realise that he probably needed a doctor some time ago. The doctor had bled out all over the floor, he'd been stabbed, by a big blade by the size of the wound, like a machete or something. I look over him to notice he is clutching a note in his right hand... A telephone number.

The End The cigarette smoke curls around my fingers. I watch it for a while, my other hand rested on my forehead, trying to calm the swirling in my head from the half bottle of whisky I've been drinking for the past hour. The bar is dead, just me and a couple other low#lifes breathing toxic and depressing air into atmosphere. You can taste the desperation when you walk in the joint, every person who walks in has a story to tell; my son was killed by a pack gang of rapists and paedophiles, my brother has been sleeping with my wife, my mother just threw herself in front of a train... You fucking name it, I've heard the damn story. I always wish I had something good and meaningful to say back to them, I don't even know why they approach me, maybe they think i look as sorry as them. I'm not like these sorry excuses of #life though, no, I am preparing. I've been preparing for 3 years, solidifying my emotions and getting a skin full of liquor to prepare myself for what I am going to do to that bastard. In my pocket is an address and a photograph of the man that murdered my wife. I look at it every single day, I look into his eyes and I think about what I say to him before I end his #life.

Dead Silence His hand quivers as he releases his finger from the trigger. He'd never killed a man before, he never could have imagined how he'd be feeling about it... Nothing in the world could of prepared him for it. He falls to his knees and looks at his victim. He watches the rain water flow into his victims gunshot wound and how it intertwined with the blood, how it ran down his face, separating like rivers into different channels all leading to a pool by his thighs. The man, started to weep, he collapsed his head into his hands and burst into tears. He'd vowed to kill this man, he made the promise to his mother on her death bed he would kill the man responsible. He couldn't believe he had done it, five long years and this is how it ends. Executing an old man, who was unarmed, an old man who pleaded for his #life, pleaded for his children and his wife. But he did not listen. As he sits there and weeps he realises his #life is nothing, he realises that he's done what was needed of him. But how does one return to normality after such an experience? As he sobs he feels the end of the barrel stick in to his temple... He pushes harder. He spits, shouts and babbles his last words to the dead old man. The sound echoes through the alleyways, it won't be long now until sirens break the silence... Before the story is buried with them.