Electricity
I sit back onto my couch, counting the money. After I'm done, I shake my head and tsk.
Now, lady. Weren't you ever taught to keep your money at home? Why carry around six thousand dollars if you aren't willing to share?
I stand up and take the six thousand dollars to my safe.
One million.
That's how much I've made over the past four weeks.
I've been shot, stabbed, beaten and bruised. I've almost been killed. You'd think that the cops would catch on: don't mess with the one that can control electricity.
But they always come back. It's like they're asking to be electrocuted.
I take a look around this abandoned building, which I spend most of my time in. It isn't much, but it's better than home, and the cops never come around.
None of it will matter anyway. Soon, I'll be rich enough to buy the cops. I'll be rich enough to buy the country.
The world.
The thought makes me smile.
I'm going to be King.
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