The soft morning light seeped in through my window and caused my eyes to open involuntarily. I suddenly had an idea and crawled out of bed, reaching into the pack that lay beside it and taking out a ragged pair of pants, a filthy white shirt, and an ankle-long grey cape. After dressing myself, I lifted my pack off the ground and gingerly walked across the wooden floor. I struggled to put on the durable leather boots which had been left outside to dry yesterday evening and trudged to the family steed, saddling it up, tying my belongings to it’s back, and climbing up onto it’s frail body.

My family is frugal and believes that a person doesn’t need to waste a bountiful supply of resources to live a good, healthy life. People have called me a wanton before, though having to grow up in a household where everything associated with luxury has to be minimized irks me and justifies the claim, for I feel trapped in a world of enterprising merchants and dull, stuffy shops. I need more. I need it all. Gold and silver, a house, and above all, a horse that doesn’t look like a Day of the Dead marionette whose strings are about to break at any minute. This is why I suddenly decided to run away and seek my own fate.

The whip came down upon the horse’s bony back and the beast ran for it’s pitiful life, obviously venerating me. I was a lone man, riding incognito into the distance to look for a well-deserved future in London, a city with a glut of metals, gems, fabrics, and other extravagant goods. For the first time in years I felt alive. The wind blew on my skinny face and the smells of the fields refreshed me. It was always the same at home: my mother screeching out orders while my father sat on a rotten stool and gobbled down bottles of mead, my siblings’ antics as they ran around the congested house, and the servants disturbing any leftover morsel of peace as they did their daily work. Surprisingly, the only good thing about my current life is that I'm a mute, and don’t have to answer to anyone or justify my actions. Because of this detriment, an aura of pity, which I deem as being my greatest weapon, envelops me. I am in essence able to get away with anything.

The horse traveled due north towards the fields separating our small town from London. As the sun began to set, spewing gold, yellow, and orange onto the tedious canvas around me, I finally saw the river running towards the city and followed it’s course. Hours away from my destination, the stupid beast trembled and collapsed out of exhaustion, landing on top of my leg. I pushed the animal away with my hands and stood up with difficulty. Literally having no words to express my anger, I walked over to a nearby tree and tore out a low-hanging branch. My feet led me to the horse, and as I looked into it’s worn face, a wave of pleasure seeped into me. The branch swung backwards over my head and landed on the horse’s torso, jamming into it’s ribcage and causing the crowfood to begin weezing. I grinned and repeated the delightful process. The branch tore through it’s flesh as if it were water and the maimed creature lay there, still and subordinate to me in every way possible for varmint and men alike. The final blow was the most enjoyable. I swung the branch in the direction of the horse’s cranium and cracked it. A dent was visible on it’s lean head and blood spewed out of his frozen lips. I had cut the strings.

I dropped the weapon and cleaned the evidence present in my hands. When the shade of scarlet disappeared in the water, I was able to lift up my compact pack and stampede away from the area. I veered right and left so as to dodge the large rocks that concealed my victim, only stopping kilometers away from the great city. Near the city there were three men resting on sharp blades of grass. They were looking up at the cloudy sky and pointing out patterns they saw in the clouds. One of the men noticed me staring at them and pointed me out to his companions. The three comrades got up and walked calmly towards me. It was a foolish gesture which ultimately angered me, and after a while of unanswered questions and threats, they realized I was unable to express my thoughts in words. I could see the clemency in their eyes as I was invited to camp with them. They bantered way too much for my liking. I eventually came to know two things through intent listening: they got kicked out of their houses because of their mother’s unfaithfulness and their supposed father’s cruelty and were avowed Christians. The ultimate punishment faced me. I was stuck with three religious bastard children who never ceased their infernal yapping.

I loathed them all, so I waited quietly till they all were fast asleep. Reaching into the closest man’s pack, Idrew out a lovely blade of steel. It found it’s way to the man’s gentle neck. My hand pressed down strong against his mouth, blocking the only exit to his desperate screams as the sharp blade sliced through the soft skin. Blood gurgled in his mouth as he drowned in the nauseating liquid. The second man heard the soft bubbling sound and slowly began to open his eyes. I immediately reached out and clasped my hands around his long neck. His struggles were futile, and soon enough his face turned to different undesirable shades before his arms dropped limply to his sides and his neck displayed triumphant rose-colored finger markings.

One more and I’d be free from these dunces. The final, legendary kill was snoring loudly, his eyes occasionally moving leisurely from side to side. I was ready to advance with the stolen blade, but just as I began walking, the man jumped quickly to his feet and held a out a tiny dagger. His face was red and had a vein as large as a mountain looming over it’s plateau. He swore like a sailor and as he jumped around he looked about as threatening as a hummingbird. The oblique blows he directed towards me were ridiculous and I mentally chuckled at the disgraceful sight. His lack of skill didn’t invalidate my intentions and I lunged towards him, hitting his shoulder with the hilt of my new blade. It got stained with sappy blood and the man swayed and fell to his knees. My feet landed hard on his side and the victim moaned as his stomach turned inside out. A green chunky liquid poured out of his thin lips alongside the dark red blood as the doomed man stood on all fours over the dark, ominous grass. I placed my feet on top of his back and stomped down with all my might, plastering his body to the damp ground.

The tip of my knife pressed up against the man’s upper body and then came the stab, a shrill screaming, and a slow, painful death. I felt quite pleased with my work and made three stripes on my wrist, one with each man’s blood to display my courage, success, and pride. You might ask what has become of me now. I can tell you one thing, which is that I am watching rich men intently and have the greatest job in the world: to violate any personal rights and steal my heart’s desires at any cost. I know how I’ll ultimately end up like, for everyone gets what they deserve, but till then I am anxiously waiting for death to release me from my miserable existence, just as I had planned to do when I killed the third camper and realized I am insane.