The young man casually walked over to the groaning man and cracked his knuckles ominously before delivering a decisive kick to his face. The man was knocked out cold, his eyes rolling back into his head and his gaping mouth welcoming the flood of blood from his nose. The young man stepped over the body – his feet either side of the barely breathing husk – and squatted low as a hand pulled a squashed cigarette out of his breast pocket. He flipped a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette at his lips before flipping it away again, his eyes focused on the flickering eyelids of his hunt – his kill.

A hand reached out and grabbed the long greasy hair of the man, dragging his body up so that the head was level with the young man’s. The young man blew some smoke into the unconscious face of the man before him; studying the loose jaw that was twisted into a bloody, yawning grin and the eyes that were looking up, elated in a grotesque happiness. He blew another cloud of smoke at the mangled face before throwing the head back to the ground with a sickening crack. The young man moved to his knees and clenched his fist, bringing it down with a thunderous reckoning on the man’s face.

He punched him over and over; leaning into every throw and feeling his hand become wet and slippery in the fray with a furiously wild look in his eyes. He was pounding wet chunks of flesh into bone, relishing at the knowledge that the bone would crack and shatter at any moment. He grabbed the hair again and smashed the back of the head into the ground, feeling the skull give way. He began beating relentlessly with his fists and lost all control of himself; his hands clawing at the exposed flesh, tearing at the hair and skin. His fingers grabbed at the mouth and ripped the jaw from the rest of the face, splinters of bone and blood flying everywhere. He began to pummel the back of the throat, hearing the gasping sounds of a man’s dying breath as he pounded a hole through him.

Throughout everything, the man had been pushing weakly and grabbing desperately at the young man’s arm; feeling himself die slowly and painfully. The young man pushed off the feeble arms and stood up, looking down on the gruesome thing with contempt. He raised his foot and brought it down on the man’s face – once, twice, three times – with the final time striking straight through to the blood sodden floor.

The young man threw his blood soaked cigarette – not even half smoked – to the ground and bent down to pull one out of the dead man’s pocket. He watched himself in the mirror as he lit it, smirking broadly at his red smothered shirt and his dripping hands. He flipped his lighter into his pocket and flipped out his mobile phone, dialling a number automatically.

“Hey hon, it’s me.”

There was a pause.

“No I’m fine, just a long day in the office.”

Another pause.

“That’s what I’m calling you about. I’ve decided to quit. Right now in fact.”

Pause.

The young man laughed and watched himself in the mirror, “I think I’m enjoying it too much.” He said, and hung up.