Hugh Newman.

The fellating guile of malignant artifice slithers unto the oblivious man, with agreeable tastes, and jaunty humor as its ruse, and yet it conceals, in the necrosis of the breast, the crimson ideations of revenge, or hedonistic onslaught. It is quite unfortunate that amicable precept can become a meretricious art of mesmerism, when wielded by a serpent, one of unassuming appearance. To walk among many, clandestinely sneering with condescending misanthropy and still remaining an ostensible chuckle away from unadulterated rapport, it cloys me. I have no need for any commune with dispensable puppets, but they come fourth and offer themselves to my command, professing all the pathetic casualties of their vices. Open books, abound with childish egoism and lofty entitlement, nothing of any novelty. The name is Hugh Newman, and presently I shall tell you a secret, one which must remain with you, until your vessel is inhumed, and from there, you must derive, a plausible notion of repudiation. I warn you however that it is not possible, my methods are fair and just. I met a man that pluvious noon. He had the poignant seemings of a crestfallen peasant, but he spoke in cultured dialect. It is not that I had become sensitive to this delitescent gravity of the unspoken predicament, and thus out of good will sought converse with the stranger, but rather I was melancholy myself, mentally obscured by selfish oblivion, until I heard his sighing soliloquy. "What have I done, I do not deserve to live" and here I paused in my saunter, a few footfalls away from him. My bitter somberness thawed into commiseration, and I began to surmise many horrible things. I followed the man. He was dressed in drab rags, and with purposeful, stately strides, he continued down the course of the road. Anxiety would here knead my composure, with its uncouth limbs, but I continued to follow him until at length, there was a dimunitive proximity between us.

My mien was friendly and I adamantly implored to join his company, with an umbrella as my service. Wearily he professed and unbosomed himself, of the salient transgression, as if those were the last exertions of his volume. His words were,

"I stole, a watch from a wealthy man. I believe he realized, upon acute brevity of scrutiny that it was I, who committed the deed and in his attempts to catch and reprocure it from me, as we ran across the road, a bus...." Here the speaker paused, and wept.

"I did not mean for such to happen" he continued and I quietly led him down a dark ally. I remember I withdrew from my coat a blade, salvaged from my military ventures and inquired if he still had possession of the watch. When he affirmed its presence I enjoined him to retrieve and wear it.

"We underestimate, this privilege, which is knowing, the designated time of our end. I am giving you something, your victim, could not otherwise fathom in his last moments despite the fact, that you conduced his death. A chance to look at the passing minute, the last sands of time, before you meet your end, and furthermore, to be 'fashionably' late for your descent into hell. Am I not an angel." Here I incised his throat, and dragged him to a glomeration of pedestrians, where I proceeded to sodomise him in his final throes.