I smile down at the morning paper, which I hold in my hands.

"It's beautiful, good sales today." I announced.

I'm proud of my own work, more than ever, now that it's printed.

I'm shocked by the lack of ache, now that I'd seen it printed. I usually let the bodies decay while in the water. They won't find me though, because tomorrow it will not even be cared about. The supposed "investigation" mentioned doesn't exist.

"Spot?" I heard.

I let out a instinctual, "Hm?"

Red stood behind, restlessly twitching and fidgeting as he so often did. He was a newer recruit. I didn't hate the boy, he'd last for a while. He was an extremely nervous boy, always stumbling over his words and such. He has a bad habit of never looking you in the eye, which has never shown as brightly as now.

"I was just... I was wondering. You've been going out for the last couple of night and I wanted to know if you were okay." He said. Even though he'd made a statement the end of his sentence his voice raised as if he were asking a question.

"Yeah," I smiled patting his shoulder. "don't worry about it. We've got more important things to worry about, other than me."

He nodded his head a tad bit longer than needed. With that I hurried off with the bundle of newspapers beneath my right arm.

Coney is always the best place to sell, crowded, people in a hurry, so on and so forth. I suppose it's just an area that gets passed on through Brooklyn leaders. All the rest of Brooklyn is looks to be exactly like the opposite of the smog and foil smell of vomit that emanates from the "great" city of Manhattan. Brooklyn (in most parts) is a suburbia, not exactly a farmland as Richmond is just across the bay.

My papers sell quickly. I feel a twinge of pride from my act. I couldn't help but feel this. My indulgence always end up giving me some pride. I know there should be some sort of lesson from karma. I "deserve" a sick hell, a twisted inferno. To that I will snicker.

I walk away from the crowded street. My thoughts return to my bliss. The arousal of my thoughts were from a young looking girl who reminded me of Ax walks by. I feel a sudden urge to brutalize her in more ways than one. I hold my breath for that tempting moment as she goes by. I clench and unclench my fists. I smirk slightly. A little bit longer and then it'll happen.

I walked to my boarding house. That pounding in my head... I rubbed the back of my head. The boarding house was just a moment away. That feeling was nearly gone, but still there, pleading, desperately.

The old place was rotting from the outside, it was made worse from the vandalism done by my boys and the ones before them. The inside was covered in a sheet of dust. The entire building was desperate for maintenance. Inside floor boards cracked, banisters were broken, most beds had simply fallen apart now there are a lot of mattresses on the floor and cots everywhere. The smaller boys were swinging and flipping. The boys threw the papers and anything they could find.

"Boys!" I snarl.

They all turned to me, innocent faces staring up at mine.

"Out!" I scream.

The boys seem a bit shocked. Eyes locked on mine with a look of innocent fear. I sigh, attempting calming myself, "I'm sorry, I've lost temper." They all look as if they are still soaking in the situation. I'd placed that charismatic mask on again, even if it had been done sloppily. I'm lucky to catch myself unraveling so quickly.

"Boys go out and play, clean this up when you come back."

The boys ran for the door. I felt that feeling, the feeling where your limbs and organs are being slashed and stomped and bitten. I ran upstairs in a childlike manor. I ran into my room, just down the hall. I slammed the door. My mind was a tunnel, blocking out all other things. I grabbed the draw then took the book I smiled lightly. My head and my body throbbed. I opened to a random page sketching all I'd wanted for that day and all the rest of those insignificant maggots; a pile of all of the beautiful bliss, all of the violence and it was so perfect...

I draw whatever seems right at the moment. I'm not saying I'm an artist, just a human looking for some modicum of relief. My drawings are simply sketches in which my inner most thoughts are thrusted out onto the page. You can at least make out the events in the drawings, it would be pretty pointless if you couldn't.

I've always heard people say death is melancholy. I've heard that it is so depressing it makes one cationic. Some fear it completely. I've fainted a few times in my youth. I'd always thought that it was like that, you don't even know you're gone. That is why dying is so blissful, everything if just sort of gone. Isn't what I'm doing (if I am correct in my assumption of death) a positive action? Aren't I relieving the one who I set my sights on and use to relieve myself as well? No more worries or troubles. It isn't even black really when you go, just nothing. Nothing at all. No colors or thoughts. No burning memories or past. Worries are gone and you don't need to care. That thought brings a bit of a smile to my lips.

I told someone once and they told me, "That's sick and you're sick! Where do you get these kinds of thoughts James? They frighten me." I shrugged indifferent. I didn't care because one day that person would die, one day I'll die, one day you'll die. Even if I do "burn in hell", it I lived, didn't I?