Death.

For many it means the end of their lives.

Their lives which were filled with such joys and sorrows; powerful feelings that seemed to flood over their existence, like threatening thunder storms that brought dreary gray clouds and vast amounts of clear drowning water, covering the planet in mucky brown dirt.

To Nathan Gray death meant more to him than just the end.

Death was designed for him to become famous, his identity known through out the world.

His name, Gray, would seep out of the crimson red lips of every person watching the news of his vacant unnatural death that was soon to occur.

His name being whispered would cause women to shudder and hold their loved ones a little closer; his name would be the one that kept children up at night, too afraid to drift off into a deep sleep, a name that would cause the masses of people to gasp in pure and utter horror.

***

Nathan sat, huddled, in this pitch black room, waiting for the time when he would be called into a deep sleep that he would never wake from. The four walls that held him were blanketed with darkness that drowned out any sense of comfort and pleasantness. No windows surrounded him; he was in a cage made of cold hard concrete that held no warmth or light.

It was like he was stuck inside of a cave, unable to get out. The only difference was the fact there was no water in sight. No water dripped onto the stone floor, calling his name, making him feel a sense of purpose that flowed through out his cold abandoned body.

A piece of his dark brown hair fell into his face, beside his hazel green eyes that captured the attention of many young ladies.

Gray looked very charming, a southern gentleman, but his victims didn't seem to notice when his eyes turned hollow, glazed over just waiting for the right moment in time to slash into their warm bodies.

He would woe them with his attraction, his intelligence, his charm, knowing exactly what to say when women walked up to him, throwing themselves at his feet.

Nathan would buy them a couple of drinks, offer them a thin cigarette, like the one that aligned his slender fingers, every night at the bars, becoming smaller as he took every drag, every exhale of smoldering cloudy smoke filled the polluted air.

He would persuade them to walk into a deserted bedroom filled with future scenes of lost blood. The victim's heart pounded with lust, waiting for every ounce of expected excitement, instead, as an alternative, they acquire the cuts caused by a sliver sharp blade that crossed their necks and thin wrists. Crimson blood would pour onto the once bleached white sheets.

Warm tears would cascade down their pale lifeless cheeks, screams and shouts would beg for forgiveness of whatever they had done to harm his soul, this soul which had been torn into pieces so many years ago.

They would shriek with their voices on high for assistance, for their lives which would be lost.

The police would find them, all lying in a perfect state, not in a scrambled chaotic position, which held disgust. Yet, this position seemed to hold more distaste, than the one of normal manslaughter, but this wasn't a normal slaying of one's life was it?
Their legs lay beside each other, their cold arms at their sides, their flesh carved into, like tattoos that would never vanish. Blood splashed onto the bare walls; the cold wooden floor held puddles of blood, the cloth that covered the cheap furniture grasped rosy red stains.

***

His killing sprees made him feel an overwhelming sense of power he'd never felt before. The deaths he committed were out of revenge, revenge out of a broken heart, never to heal again.

His grandest memory was his first target, the first face that lit up in alarm before he slaughtered her, letting the colorful blood spill upon the dull white sheets. He found it hilarious that when death rested upon her shoulders her face seemed crammed with innocence, when just minutes ago she was willing to perform a life changing sin of her own.

***

He was to die of a drug injected into his veins. His blood would cause the drug to spread through out his body, killing him.

People debated what way he should die, most thought it would be more humane this way, through lethal injection.

To Nathan though, his death wasn't humane.

But Gray had seen it coming, this death of his flesh in such a gruesome way.

***
Though he would die too, along with his prey, he never regretted what he did. It was this craving of revenge caused by his broken bloody well beaten heart that made him lose his sanity, made him lose total control. Pain was what had made him slaughter harmless females which caused his lonely death, never to be forgotten.