A Penchant For Violence

I look down at my dark red hands that I could have sworn were a different color just a minute before.

From the time I was born I've had a penchant for violence, and it grew quickly.
At seven, I'd broken bones and put people in hospitals.
At eleven, I'd killed a man.
At twelve, I'd killed a woman.
At fourteen, I'd killed my first person younger than myself.

I look up and see the faces of those I've killed, bathed in glorious light, and I realize what's happening. I get this one final torture before the darkness takes me.