The pleasure of unleashing that stemmed anger.
That desire to hold that gleaming shining object.
To see your reflection in it.
To see that hidden soul.
That hidden self.
That someone whom you never knew was ever inside you.
To see that sinister smile.
To see her dead in your arms.
To see him begging you to forgive him.
Hearing all the improvised promises.
Pleading. Begging.
To see that flow.
Flow of blood in your hands.

The art of killing.
What a pleasure.