I'm Not A Perfect Prosecutor
Perfect? I Think Not!
Parting the black/silver hair from his face, the well-dressed prosecutor sighed. He hated to look as his reflection in the mirror, because he despised the man who stared back at him. Everything about it disgusted him, from his cold eyes, to what he saw as his bulging stomach. He removed his red jacket, triple cravat and white shirt underneath and stared at his stomach. Standing to the side and looking into the mirror made it look bigger. The piece of flab, as he often called it, made him feel sick. In an attempt to cheer himself up, he smiled at his reflection and told himself he was going to be OK. The sight of his weak smile was frightening to him, feeding his self-hatred.
Punching the mirror, he screamed, "Miles Edgeworth, you are sentenced to a lifetime of humiliation, because you're fat, stupid, and ugly!"
Pain ran through his fist, causing him to act blindly with rage some more.
"Fuck you!" he yelled at his reflection. "You're the saddest excuse for a man ever!"
Falling to a crumbled heap on the ground, Miles held back the tears in his eyes.
"Why can't I just die?" he mumbled to himself.
His anger only worsened when he spotted a newspaper that his faithful dog, Pesu, had left on the ground next to the bathroom door. Picking it up, he read the front cover.
"Perfect Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Does It Again."
Ripping it up into shreds, he yelled at the dog, causing her to run away and wonder what she did wrong.
"Fuck!" he cried. "Sorry, Pesu, girl! Damn it! I hate myself! I'm not perfect!"
Returning to his reflection, he tried to find the pros and cons of himself.
"All right, Miles, pros," he said. "You often get the verdict you're looking for... You have a nice dog... Women seem to like you... Or at least they're just doing that because... THEY PITY YOU!"
Screaming, he kicked everything in sight, eventually stumbling to the kitchen. Looking at his neatly arranged knives, he smiled to himself.
"I knew those would come in handy," he said, grabbing the sharpest knife from the rack.
He slowly made his way back to the bathroom mirror. In his mind, the image was distorted, and hideous. He ran his finger down the long, shape blade of the knife.
"Okay," he said, "just a small incision first..."
He lightly ran the knife across his chest, causing no damage.
"Just... A small... Incision..."
He pushed against his skin harder, eventually piercing through it, and dragging the knife across his chest, he left a long cut that was pouring out blood.
"A small incision!"
Addicted to the feeling of pain as the lifesaving red liquid left his body, he started to stab himself harder and harder, pulling across his skin, digging into flesh, and creating cuts everywhere.
"HA! HA! HA!" he laughed, as his whole torso started to turn red.
"PERFECT PROSECUTOR MY ARSE!" he cheered. "DIE, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"
Miles soon became light headed, and fell to the ground, staining it with blood, his blood, his perfect blood, the perfect blood of the once perfect prosecutor.
Punching the mirror, he screamed, "Miles Edgeworth, you are sentenced to a lifetime of humiliation, because you're fat, stupid, and ugly!"
Pain ran through his fist, causing him to act blindly with rage some more.
"Fuck you!" he yelled at his reflection. "You're the saddest excuse for a man ever!"
Falling to a crumbled heap on the ground, Miles held back the tears in his eyes.
"Why can't I just die?" he mumbled to himself.
His anger only worsened when he spotted a newspaper that his faithful dog, Pesu, had left on the ground next to the bathroom door. Picking it up, he read the front cover.
"Perfect Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Does It Again."
Ripping it up into shreds, he yelled at the dog, causing her to run away and wonder what she did wrong.
"Fuck!" he cried. "Sorry, Pesu, girl! Damn it! I hate myself! I'm not perfect!"
Returning to his reflection, he tried to find the pros and cons of himself.
"All right, Miles, pros," he said. "You often get the verdict you're looking for... You have a nice dog... Women seem to like you... Or at least they're just doing that because... THEY PITY YOU!"
Screaming, he kicked everything in sight, eventually stumbling to the kitchen. Looking at his neatly arranged knives, he smiled to himself.
"I knew those would come in handy," he said, grabbing the sharpest knife from the rack.
He slowly made his way back to the bathroom mirror. In his mind, the image was distorted, and hideous. He ran his finger down the long, shape blade of the knife.
"Okay," he said, "just a small incision first..."
He lightly ran the knife across his chest, causing no damage.
"Just... A small... Incision..."
He pushed against his skin harder, eventually piercing through it, and dragging the knife across his chest, he left a long cut that was pouring out blood.
"A small incision!"
Addicted to the feeling of pain as the lifesaving red liquid left his body, he started to stab himself harder and harder, pulling across his skin, digging into flesh, and creating cuts everywhere.
"HA! HA! HA!" he laughed, as his whole torso started to turn red.
"PERFECT PROSECUTOR MY ARSE!" he cheered. "DIE, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"
Miles soon became light headed, and fell to the ground, staining it with blood, his blood, his perfect blood, the perfect blood of the once perfect prosecutor.