Zenaku

He loses himself in the smell of black powder, the barrel is still smoking from the blast. The people around him only scream louder, as he can not even remember his own past. His eyes burn with flames of another vendetta, there is nothing but pain in his corrupted soul. He loads another clip into his charcoal beretta, and finishes his victim, 3 days before his parole. The devil embraced him like his own son, like a puppet master pulling on the strings. Whispering "pull back the trigger on the gun," and enjoy the very thrill that murder brings. He felt dead to the world that he once knew, and so those who made him so would pay. Raised in nothing but violence as he grew, he dropped his weapon and tried to get away. With all of his force he raced to the door, but this time there was simply no way out. Waves of bullets dropped him to the floor, a lifeless smile as blood poured from his mouth. Until this day his death is forever unknown, some say that it was suicide from mental disease. The truth is that he did not die alone, a horned silhouette that roams among the trees.