Don’t steal my bread
And I hit him, and it felt good hitting him, so I did it again. The second time I connected better and as I sunk my fist into his nose there was a loud crack. It actually hurt my fist, but I liked that. With the third punch he went down, the blood spraying out of his nose going everywhere whilst he managed half a scream before hitting the floor – “Aaarrgufff…” he seemed to be saying, but it melted into silence.
I wasn’t done. He was knocked out on the floor but kicking his head in was still enjoyable and maybe more so because it was so easy. He wasn’t a person any more, just a sturdy weight, spraying blood, now from his right eye as well. I moved on from the face to just kicking him along the floor, getting frustrated each time a kick to his stomach failed to move him far or hurt him in a way that I could see, I kicked harder and harder until I’d managed to kick him all the way out of the kitchen into the living room. It took about five minutes for me to realise that he was dead.
No regrets.
