DOOMDADADOOM!
READ THE FREAKEN STORY, DERNIT!
***
I had my scythe at the ready.
I wanted to relish this forever.
The black night metamorphasised to gray twilight, and on we traveled.
Finally, we reached the shack outside of the city where I was raised.
I told the child to watch for the militia.
Ever since we blew a appartment complex to smithereenes, we had to deal with the higher security in the city.
Little did they know the true horror was about to strike.

I passed through the lawn unseen. Not even the birds stopped Canto at my presence.
As the door fell before me, I heard a fucile cock.
Daddy.
In a deep Southern drawl, the old man hissed at me. "Who are you?"
I gave a dry smile.
"Father! Dont te recognize me?"
The man pointed the fucile to my head and examined me. For the first time in perhaps decades, that archaic coo-coo clock that replaces my fathers brain started to work.
I hoped he could still do math.
Because vengeful son+ deadly weapon= death.
I smacked the fucile to the ground and kicked my father to the ground, placing the scythe behind his neck.
"Why are ya doin this?" he asked as the blade slowly sank depper into his neck.
I showed him the patches on my front where the pelliccia hadnt grown back.
As he examined the marks, I jerked up the scythe, and the snow-white head rolled into the bedroom.
As the child jumped onto my back, I spoke to him.
"Isnt that the best color? Crimson?" I asked. "My fathers sooo lucky. Now his floor is beautifully stained."
We sank deeper into insanity as we prepared for the heros.
***