Give us one page of a book, story, or poem of yours. If it's a poem, it can be up to two pages. We don't care if it's already something you posted. For the big, fat $100, put up your picked page or poem. Winner will be chosen by Prose.

Pain and peace

Sometimes I feel like death has passed me by. Like it is always one step behind me and just doesn’t feel like running. It’s like it knows there’s no escape for a man like me. For one who has taken lives and spilled blood. It is not a tragedy that a man like me attracts death and many may even celebrate when it finally decides to catch up. I have felt what it is like to plunge a knife in another’s chest to watch the blood seep from his body and his soul from his eyes, but still I keep running. I keep running because one day I hope to find something to run for. One last kill and I can finally go home to the land above. One last job, one last soul, and death will be on top of me. But I think that that just may be ok. Maybe this time instead of blood I will see peace, instead of pain, love.