Summer is a young mother trying to grasp her new reality. Witch is keeping a low profile with her beautiful bubbly daughter Autumn who's full of character for a four-year-old.
Kazimir isn't your normal French billionaire CEO. He's a man who knows h...
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I sat in silence as I enjoyed the screams coming from across the room. The bright orange lights met my intense gaze.
More screams. I was a sick mother fucker what can I say I was forced to accept that since I was four.
I clenched my jaw fucking angry at the fact my girl had to go through something like that. Nobody deserves to be treated as if they're something less.
Something not worth being prized or something, not of value. Behind me was a large screen of the man's family being killed.
Poor mommy and daddy didn't teach their son to keep his hands to himself. More tears and more screams as he murmurs his loved ones.
"I'm fucking sorry," he pleaded. But that wasn't good enough for me. Sorry I didn't do shit. Tell that to my four-year self he wasn't told sorry.
I wasn't worthy of a fucking sorry. I wasn't saved. I wasn't good enough to be saved.
"Sorry is just a word someone repeats to make themselves feel better!" I spoke up looking disgustingly at the human.
The fire was now burning his upper body as he repeatedly watched his parents suffer before he reached his last breath.
He continuously begged and prayed as if god would save him. I scoffed watching the scene play out as I threw Summer's letter into the fire pit with his body.
"I'm going to ask you again who paid you?"
"I told you it was a guy!" He shouted in pain.
"So not the woman?"
"I don't fucking know no woman,"
The mask of manipulation is deception. You play them, showing them one thing when it's another.
He thinks he is watching his parents being killed as he dies thinking all of this is his fault, he brought this on to his family dying knowing he was the cause of their deaths.
When In reality I have amazing editing skills, his parents were alive. I was hesitant at first but they came off as good, he failed them as a son.
The bigger question was where did he fit into all of this? There was a bigger picture that I couldn't figure out.
The artist behind this portrait was curl and cunning, they were someone who fits right in be we just couldn't see them.
It all had to be connected to her. She was going to die slowly. The flesh falls apart slowly as the fire eats his body alive. I stand up with the bottle of gasoline and put it onto this head spreading up the process.
There it was the screams of a quiet mind with painful screams. I remembered those screams too well my body tensed at the memories as I snapped out of my thoughts.
