Disclaimer: Don't own Sweeney Todd, or Johnny Depp… Unfortunately.
Warnings:… bad rhymes?
Todd's POV.
"Sit down, sir."
Another customer and another shave. Correction: Another close shave. Because that's what a barber do.
I can smell the stench of blood, pumping inside the man's body. His name is… I've forgotten. Willbur? William? Anyway, he's a small fry.
The kind of man no one will be missing. He's alone, working down the street as a librarian.
The razor is lying on a table. So alone.
It is screaming for attention.
"Close shave, please.
"Of course, sir."
Want to take him down? My friend.
Want to feel the blood around?
All around you?
"I couldn't help but notice the young woman's stare, sir. She looked quite taken by your appearance."
"What women?"
"The one downstairs, sir. The one named Terrence."
"…Her name is Gladys. Gladys Terrence."
"Such a beautiful woman. Do you like her, sir?"
"It is not in my right place to…"
"You're in my quarter now, sir. You can tell me anything that's on your mind."
Tell me. Let me see.
Let me see if you worthy of living.
"She's beautiful."
"That she is."
"A marvel."
"And I wish…"
"With golden hair…"
"…I dared…"
"Talk to her."
The customer is turning around in his chair, looking at me with wonder.
"Talk to her."
"Why would I…"
"Talk to her."
"My shave? What about…"
"Don't ask. Talk to her."
Before I change my mind.
Before I will go blind.
Before I'll only see red.
Before you will be dead.
"Talk to her."
He's scared now, of what I know. His secret is exposed; there is nothing more he can do now.
"What about my shave?"
I put my razor down, and turn his chair around to face me.
"If she says no and your heart is broken, you will come here again. I'll give you a free shave as comfort."
Let's pray you won't come here again. That may be the last thing you'll ever do.
He's heading for the door, and turns around one last time. I think the image he saw will burn itself into his mind.
I stand here, with a razor in my hand. Looking like a ghost, staring out the window.
Old. Broken. Pale. Tall. Sneering. Glaring.
Dangerous.
Finally, he's leaving.
And I'm all alone, reminiscing.
Let's pray he won't become like Benjamin Barker.
Devil's Backbone.