EXCERPT:
Shovelling is easy.
Potentially.
Shovelling a ten by ten feet is a strain.
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
To the average man, it appears a crazy act. Even a dead body does not require that much. Sullivan differs the above statement. Commonality in modes of thinking with the layman was a detest he had formed since toddlership.
And a man whose brain operates on the next most appalling way to bring utmost dejection and pain to another would find a ten by ten pit, alluring. Far more than the idea of killing itself.
His basic thoughts being violence done right is violence done well. Violence done wrong though… was violence done best. But haste most times, showered limits on enjoying the art of violence.
Yet…
Sullivan had never been a man that allowed haste to alter his plans. Should violence be deprived of the time to reign, other methods would prove…sufficient.
Why stain your hands with the blood of the lecherous straining your girl when there's a better idea? Plus, dedicating a public bench to society is an act of goodwill. What more modest way to assure society he had reformed his ways and was now a gentleman than this?
As the concrete mixture turned firmer with time—pleading muffles of voice murdered by the fill of earth—the vision of the mould came alive before him. Sullivan had to admit, concrete does cement unnecessary evidence. Unnecessary existence.
"Beautiful." He admired. His handwork, a blessing society would adore for centuries.
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SIDENOTE: PLEASE NOTE THAT THE ML HAS A PAST THAT AFFCETS HIS PRESENT. HENCE HE APPROCAHES FL LIKE HE'S HUNTING.
A CHEETAH WAITING TO POUNCE ON A DEER. SLOW, DELIBERATE YET MERCILESS.
ALSO, THE MALE LEAD MAY APPEAR A GENTLEMAN TAMING HIS INSTINCTS BUT HE PERFORMS ACTS THAT ARE DARK AND OBSESSIVE. IN SHORT, HE DEFINES MORALLY GREY.