As soon as I saw the first drop of blood on my wrist I knew I was going to meet my end. Each painful moment is what kept me moving. Light as a feather across dark streets and wet roads. A burning sensation is what it was like moving from barely there to Hell.
The past murderer was the one who greeted my confused teenage mind. The same mind that was responsible for 26 deaths in the past few months. The same mind that everyone thought was innocent. Boy were they wrong.
My ungrateful, snarky a** is what got me the job. Satan himself would s*** his pants if he saw me approaching with an empty syringe. Why empty? It gives the same effects of a heart attack. Damn the Sheriff of Hell role, I was the Prime Minister.
Heck I remember laying in bed listening to my favorite opening the day I got myself ghosted. "My names Rick Harrison and this is my pawn shop," That's the last televised words I heard before my lame murderer self got caught. Damn those ripped gloves, Damn my escaped fingerprints that got me killed. Well I kinda knew I would be dead soon but still.
