Hello. Basically, I am working on a novel, and I am stuck. Sweeney Todd and Toby fascinated me in both the book (A String of Pearls) and the movie, so I decided to write a really messed up fanfiction of what happens to Toby after Sweeney dies to help ease my writer's block. I never do this sort of thing; so don't be surprised if you hate it.

He is dead. The man who made my mother's life a living hell, and my own life seemingly pointless is dead. What is better is that I caused his death. I ended his reign of terror.

I flick the razor in my hands, and his blood splatters over my hand. I flinch, almost expecting his harsh evil to be like acid against my skin. But to my surprise, it is not. The lone drop is simply red water and I can see my reflection in it. I fail to see the simpleton or the idiot that everyone makes me out to be. There is a blazing determination in my eye and a sardonic smile on my lips.

Come to think of it, how dare they deem me to be stupid? Yes, my voice is childish and slow, but my mind is sharp. I knew all along about the pies and their contents. I am no fool; I smelled the black cloud that exited the house every night. It is not veal or whatever the hell Mum said it was. It was as dark and sinister as the first sin. I am no simpleton; I can read the hardest of literature- Hugo, Plato, Socrates, Dickens, Milton, and Homer. I am not blind; I saw Mum's adoration for Sweeney Todd (how I snarl when I think of his name!) and I knew of Todd's past and present.

I hate them. I hate Pirelli for making me a dog when I deserved to be a man. I hate Mum for deceiving me, deluding me into thinking that life is indeed pleasant once you find the correct people.

But I cannot hate Sweeney Todd. I cannot hate him for killing my mother and killing those people. Had he felt this senseless rage towards everyone? Had he felt that the face that the world saw was not necessarily was what the soul showed?

I study his blood and compare it to a bleeding cut that I got a few minutes ago. My blood looks the same as his. I sigh and wipe my hands on my pants. Todd's razor taunts me. It speaks to me,

You cannot stay here. Your mother's friends will be worried when her shop does not open tomorrow.

My new friend is right. I leave the house with the razor in my hands, not even sparing my home one last glance.

I never could have been Mum's true son anyway, I realize as I trudge through the streets of London. She had a good influence on me, and she spent far more time with me than Todd ever did, but he was the authority of the house.

How I marveled over his control! How I pondered over his brooding nature, and how he managed to set the code of the house based on his ideas with very few words!

I would have been Sweeney Todd's son. Eventually. I would have had to prove myself to him. I bet he is proud of me in Hell. I chuckle once.

Toby Ragg is gone. He is with Mrs. Lovett now, baking their pies and cleaning the tables.

Tobias Todd is here, calmly slitting the throats of those who deserve far less.