Hate

The cuts were too deep into his heart and life requested of him to be forgiving. But how could he?
The thought of not being the worst of all victims in world whirled in his head and yet his hate was engraved in his heart. This cut deeper into his heart making it a dead cold thing.
it was like a fall into ether. Floating through the dark space not knowing how to get out of it.
He made plans to heal his wounds. He knew it was time to draw blood. After all, he was turned into a cat. Which kind of cat never enjoyed the smell of blood from a fresh kill in an alley, blown by the winter winds to the last block of the street in a moonless night ? It was the excitement felt through every pore of his skin as each hair stood firmly on his body. It was absolute vengeance. The cure!

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