Freedom of The Press

Tying Up Loose Ends

Finally, I had my men search for months and they finally found him. The scoundrel who had been investigating the explosion. He was a young journalist, the boy had plenty of money, the only reason he had taken up the exhausting profession was to get dirt on me. He had lost his parents due to my actions and now he wanted justice for my crimes, pitiful. Where is your justice here? All I see is you tied to a chair in my basement, helpless. I can still tase his last words "There will be justice, by law or by God's judgement there will be justice!" Those priceless little words he managed to choke out as he was strangled.  

I had never killed directly before, I heard it had a wonderful thrill to it. I had my men bind him up in my basement and I strangled him with my best belt. Watching the life fade from his eyes was the most beautiful thing in the world. Besides the splendid thrill there was a sense of ending to it. There was a sense that I had completed a task that had long gone unfinished. After all, if I killed two out of three I might as well finish off the whole set! 

I decided to keep him, as a trophy of my greatest victory since I won the election. I had an icebox in my basement, it was the perfect casket. It lay down and I could open it up anytime to look at my glorious trophy. I kept him just barely covered in ice cubes and I always made sure I could see his face and neck, especially his neck. After I strangled him, a large bruise started to form around his neck. I love how I branded him, it's so satisfactory to admire the band of purple that winds around his neck like an eternal collar. I look at his face once more, his pale skin contrasts with his mark, his eyes are closed and he looks to be peacefully asleep. I say goodnight and close the lid of the icebox grave. I slept better that night than I have in a decade.