Darkness. That's the sight that overcame me. The last true thing I saw was the barrel of the gun that the teenager, who's house I had broken into, was pointing at my face.
I was wearing a pair of torn up jeans along with a wrinkled black t-shirt. I wore my favorite fleece jacket. It was a leatherish color on the outside and had decals of skulls and death related things on the back. The fleece on the inside of the jacket was black. I was wearing my Teddy bear mask like I always did when I broke into sleepy households to murder it's inhabitants, my authentic long sword at my side.
I can't really remember how or when I started killing. I just remember standing over two dead bodies. A man and a woman. I guess those were my parents but now they were just husks. Killing is an art, the creating of humanoids frozen in a moment of panic, fear, and adrenaline is just exhilarating. It still is. But in the moment that I saw the bullet locked in the chamber of the small revolver the terrified boy was holding, I became curious about where my demonic soul would go. Was there life after death? Or was I condemned to an eternity burning in hell?. And then I heard a click then a bang. I could see the bullet gather speed in the chamber through my right eye. Then the darkness came. Dying doesn't feel as bad as one might think, it's like finally falling asleep after a lifetime of being awake. It was peace...