I used to think that I understood what this was about,what my life was about.But with the passage of time my perspective changed too.Still it happened far too late.

I am a survivor.I used to think that was what life was about survival.I was wrong.I despised heroes because most heroes tend to die young but survivors do not.

I having lived longer than most now wished that I had died a hero rather than be branded as a coward .That however is a lie survival too takes courage but more than courage it requires cunning which heroes lack.

They had destroyed my way of life by killing the people who helped me live it.I had hungered for revenge but the survivor within told me that I would not survive the confrontation.

Now years later I have returned to take my revenge.I have not lived for I have not loved since the day they took away my ability to love.In that I am a coward for love is too painful….

I looked around.The door was ajar which was highly unusual for the paranoid Mr.Hussie.I peered through the window of the living room which was slightly open,yet another anamoly.The room seemed to be empty.I cautiously crept through the door and up the staircase.
And there he was.The frail old man was sitting in his bedroom .HIs head was in his hands.His hands were shaking. “What’ s the matter Mr.Hussie”,I asked him.He sat upright all of a sudden startled to hear my voice.”you took everything from me,what do you want now?”.
“No not everything”,I reply.His shirt is red and damp with blood but not his. There is a human carcass lying mutilated on the rug . It’s his blood that is literally on Mr. Hussie’ s hands and on his shirt but figuratively its on mine, the hands i mean not the shirt.