Dying moment.

Death, it’s something not a lot of people like to think about, something people joke about, but never want to look at seriously. Some people say they aren’t scared of death, they say it’s not something to be scared of, they thing of it as a way out, the only way out. Some people even base their sense of style around it. Even I, still have some fear left of death, and I, have come face to face with it on more than one occasion, not only have I been close to it myself, I have seen it, many, many times. In fact, I am the one who brings it. I am the delivery boy, with the delivery that nobody wants. Not that they get a choice of course.
Who I am is not important, my profession on the other hand, is. I am a killer, a serial killer if you may, if you want somebody dealt with, you come to me. If you come to me, you get business, if I come to you, it’s another story.
I’m not going to lie to you, this isn’t a nice story. It involves blood and death, but it also involves love. I didn’t believe in love, until I saw it that is.
But this isn’t a love story…and if it is, it surely isn’t the type of love story I would hope you are reading. These kind of stories are always written by the victim, that’s another way that this story is different, victim is the last word I would use for myself.