a blue print to a story i want to write

I stroll along the streets every evening and occasionally jump from rooftop to rooftop. I find this a good source of exercise for me. I can not expose my true strength to the human public. So I dumb down my power to live by their pathetic standards. I protect them and yet they hunt monsters like me. It’s a beautiful night and I feel like flying. Too bad that was not a power I was provided with by the devil.
Forgive me. I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’ve just been ranting on and on. My name is Rafeal Mariano. My other name is Malice and that is only used during darkness. I am of the Spanish conquered land of Brazil. I am approximately 5000 years old but most of my memory before the 21st century has been removed from the corners of my mind. I can not explain this phenomena but I can say that you’ll never have recollection of any one you murder with a mind like mine.
I haven’t killed in a while but I have a name on this list that seems almost impossible to avoid. This man has been a very bad boy. John Sacten; commander of the U.S marine core and sergeant of the 21st regime unit to the Brazilian drug army called the Combatants. He has done some dirty business which involves the brutal killings of innocent U.S. marines and civilians due to drug trafficking complications. I wonder which technique I’ll use to kill him with.
My apologies, my techniques are my different ways of killing an individual. For a man like John Sacten I use different methods of torture. First with my given speed I can move quickly through his home and fluster the power. Move objects to spook him and show my true form. My beast. While I manage to mentally share the message of fear in his mind I will finally confront him and grab hold of his neck. My strength provided, I can easily lift him as if he were a pillow.
While he hangs in my grip I whisper to him how he will die and share with him his faults. I slowly move my hand down his left arm that has now gone limp from lack of oxygen. I reach the elbow and begin to dig my monstrous claws into it slowly cracking then breaking the cartilage. Blood spirts from his arm. He screams. I separate the forearm from the rest of his body. He screams for god. But little does he understand. God wanted this for him. God allowed his name on my list. Some god these humans believe. A self-sacrificial god. Pathetic.
The image of john’s mother must have entered his mind because he screamed for her. Funny man. She won’t be able to help him either. I dig into the upper left arm which is still connected to his body. Slowly digging through his muscles. Blood gushes every where. Such agony is intolerable to the human spirit. I can read his mind now. He wishes for death but I continue the torture. I am tearing the rest of his left arm off. He screams like a little girl. He asks me why I’m doing this I don’t answer. I am reaching for his left leg. John kicks viciously. I am stronger than him. I am grabbing hold and quickly tearing the limb right off the skin of the bone. The bones of his left leg seem strong. A lot of calcium and Iron in this man. I grow tire of him so I will end this. I slit his throat with my claws and I throw him across the room. Poor man. Would’ve thought he’d scream like a man……..

back to the yoke

It’s funny how I see life here in Holyoke. I thought I would be returning back to something I lost or something I needed. But as I look around this “great city” I realize just how much this city really looks like shit. I see the city council requested that certain buildings be repainted and remodeled. That there is a trash disposal canister on every corner so that way the streets would be cleaner. The side walks look straighter. In all great attempts to make this city look like something it isn’t. This city still leads in polls for teen pregnancy rate. The same bums that I have seen running my corners with their filth and drugs still reside in those very corners. The same niggas that jumped me and broke my jaw are running around free with no fear of anything that could happen to them. The women still like hoodrats and the men haven’t done shit with their lives but more shit. I go to college to get away from this. I am ashamed of where I live. I am ashamed of my hometown.