Happiness Is A Wet Knife

The delightful spinning was a side effect of the carnage. Henny was high on the blissful act of slaughter. He was viewing it from afar, deep inside himself. The knives went through their motions and Henny’s wrists knew where they wanted to go. The boy with the five bullets was probably dead by now but Henny had to let the dance continue.

It wasn’t always like this, sometimes it was sad. Back in the day, Henny was just another man; then he started stabbing people and things got better. The life of accounting was a dismal thing compared to murder. Murder helped him grow as an individual. Next, he was going to try a guy with six bullets.

First thing though, Henny needed stainless, carbon was just too much upkeep.