AN: So...writing from the POV of Tom Riddle is fun: he's a juvenile psychopath! (Like we all secretly are...erm...) It's short and sweet. But I doubt he put too much thought into this decision somehow.
Disclaimer: Does the pope poop in the woods?
Before Your Eyes
There was a mudblood phrase, that when you die, you see your life flash before your eyes.
In his dreams, it was a flash of green light, a rushing sound.
He would never experience that. He didn't care what it would cost him; for no price was too great. He would never die. No. Not like that bitch of a mother who had died too soon to love him. To tell him who his father was. No, he would never die.
He had heard a whisper, a ghost of a rumor, of magic blacker than a lunar eclipse (the blackest of all, because you have known how bright the night can be), more twisted than unforgiveable curses, more evil than anything else. It was, to use another mudblood phrase, to sell your soul to the devil. It was to rip your soul to shreds, so that it, and therefore you, could never die.
It was murder.
Well, what did he care about murder? If he could have his way, murder would be legal: an easy way to get rid of the scum who didn't deserve to live. Scum like his filthy muggle father, that worthless man who didn't even realize he had spawned a man destined for greatness, for immortality, and had therefore abandoned him.
Well, this man would pay. He would pay heavily. He would be the first one to die for his son's soul (for there would be many—he refused to take the chance that the one might be destroyed, and which would give someone the opportunity to kill him).
He would be the first one to see his life flash before his eyes in the form of green light, and a rushing sound.