"THE FINAL SCORE"
I promised I wouldn't make more than a hundred cuts. This was the ninety-ninth, and he's bleeding so profusely I'm almost tempted to stop right here. But I must finish what I started.
Little cuts do not kill in and of themselves, but they do get the juices flowing. Literally.
I guess you could say that scoring is my signature. My modus operandi.
Many stab, often deeply, always continuously. I slice gently, taking my time, as though it were an art. And I guess, for me, it is.
This is it. The final score. I will make it count.
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY"
I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I've hated your guts since the first time I laid eyes on you. It was repulsion at first sight – a snap judgment, to be sure, but not one without merit.
As much as I've tried – and for some reason, I've given it a fair bit of effort – I can't find a single redeeming quality in you. You are thoroughly reprehensible, utterly deplorable, and eminently devoid of worth.
I was taught from an early age that if you can't say something nice about someone, it's best to say nothing at all. So these will be my final words to you.
Do the world a favor, and leave it. Or, failing that, leave society. Strike out on your own, choose your path, and lose yourself forever.
Do this, and I will have one positive thing to say about you – "He knew when it was time to go."
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