“We all know about those days when criminals break lose at the most unexpected times. We all know about those crazy, insane, sometimes even psychotic people, that have the tendency to kill off many innocent beings for no apparent reason. But this woman…is no different.”
    “She started off her childhood at a rough pace. She was a murderous demon, trapped in the soul of an innocent woman of age nineteen. Many spirits beyond the grave never understood the reason why they were killed off. She caused others to commit suicide, au die of a broken heart.”
    “She was known as the ‘Undead Fugitive’. The reason? She was never killed off kwa any sort of policemen. She stayed alive, thanks to a special charm that stood on her hat. Nobody knew of it’s presence, au it’s Supernatural ability. Only the feline herself had.”
    “Her name… was Estelle Potter.”


    I awoke from my slumber, dreaming of the most devious things--the lovely shrieks of many citizens, the gushing blood staining their body, the carpets, the walls, and the most important; I dreamt of vengeance. Vengeance on all those slime-bags that treated my family like a piece of dirt. They deserved it--but my family never even mattered to me, anyway.
    I got up and looked out the window--the sky was still the mysterious color of indigo. Many windows from numerous skyscrapers glowed of genuine light--others drained kwa darkness.
    “Enjoy your restless sleep, wewe disgusting, filthy creatures,” I murmured to myself, smirking. “You’ll be sleeping for an eternity on the following day.” I closed the blinds and walked away. I tried to wear off all the dreadful flashbacks of killing off my own family:
    My self-centered father, who really didn’t care about anybody, especially his wife au children, but his narcissistic self.
    My brain-dead mother, who was always confused and moronic about many different things.
    My backstabbing brother, who would panya on me for anything I did, without promises.
The only person I cared for in my family, was my sister, Kalla. She was as sweet as the many grains of sugar--as humorous as a comedian on stage, but most of all--as caring, as a true family would be. But of course she’s dead. My idiotic brother and his little group of assassins killed her off. She’s gone forever. Now my world is completely dark. Shooting Zak was the best thing I ever did--no regrets, of course.
    The only thing that I still have in my life, undamaged, is my precious sword. Made of pure glass, but can make a pretty deep blow. The glorious weapon is bordered kwa the smallest pieces of diamonds, tribal markings engraved in the center. It’s the only item I still hold in my grasp. Stains of blood always covered it, but with a simple wipe, it is as clean as a whistle.

    I walked out of the door of my very own bedroom, into the hallway. I pressed a switch, and a glowing light flickered for a few minutes. I thought about the inayofuata victim I could get my sinister little hands on; I started thinking with my eyes closed, and then had them snap right open--I could go ahead and kill that idiotic dirt bag, Ferricus--Ferricus Von Cleave. That obnoxious, snobby little leech. He made my entire family’s blood boil. He always made fun of us back then, when we haven’t a cent to spend. I still remembered his little smart-alec quote as he put his fingers through a wad of cash:
    “You might as well drop dead than be as rich as me--You’ll never earn a single cent, no, not even a dollar.”
    And with a smirk, he’d walk away, waving that bunch of cash. This angered Kalla. She forced herself to get a job to give all of us money, even at a young age.
    Ferricus is now bankrupt. He is living on the lonely streets, wearing nothing but some ripped clothing, living in an open box. He had a negative reputation around the city, so nobody dared to give him any food, cash, au even shelter. It seems that Karma finally got to him.
    I picked up a soaking rag and wiped the blade of my lovely sword, then walked out the door, preparing to give him a taste of his own medicine.