• The day was dark it was cold and wet. He had a problem and it was big. It got out of hand last night and he didn't know what to do. He was scared, hungry, and mostly bloody. He had a strange feeling that he couldn't explain but one word kept coming back to him passion.
    Yes it was passion that spured the the blood of his act. But did that matter..no. All that mattered is that he did it and it was on his hands lied the evidance of last night. He new that he would surely be caught but the passion would it stop? No it would not.
    He new he would go insane wether from guilt, or knowledge it would eat him alive. He new he could have not what he wanted most for it was murder that stood between him and normality. As he stood in the dark of the house he thought that maybe there was a way out but as always there were complications to it. He had to do it one more time it was the passion it was like the wind wispering to him. Kill, kill, passion the voice sounded cold, dark, and flat.
    But he new that if he did it one more time he could not have what he longed to be normal. He could not sleep, eat, even talk but unto himself and the voice. It frightened him yet soothed him into a lul of peace and anger. He held his eyes shut an herd the voice grow louder. He tried to block it out but he could not.
    Then it stopped and his eyes popped open and at that second he new that he could not have what he wanted, but he could not let the voice win. He stood in stillness for what seemed like eternity. He walked to the phone dialed nine one one and said come quick i have murdered and with a slight *click* hung up. He walked to the window and stared out. The cops arrived a little to late for as they pulled up a shadowy figure came crashing out a window and landed on the concrete with a silent *splat* . Blood dripped then poured out the body that was it it was over no more he was dead. Did the passion end? Of coures not.