Ballerina

by Jimmy Esmaeili

  The solitude won’t talk to you

  The solitude won’t smile at you

  When you are alone and

  When you are in middle

  Of so many people

  That means; you are like me

  Struggle with what hurts you

  Crush it with your smile

  You’ll see the solitude

  Will talk to you

  You’ll see the solitude

  Will smile at you

  Struggle with what hurts you

  And you’ll win, win, and win

  Today I suppose to meet a hit man, a “professional” hit man. His name is TURBO, a street fighter and a professional killer. His criminal career is robbing the drug dealers and torturing them by his traumatic skills. He and his gang involved in several acts of violence against a large opposing gang during his period. He spent six years in most weird prison in his entire life. A prison which they fed the inmates green baloney and dressed them in pink underwear. Turbo, was hog-tied, jumped on, punched and strapped into a restraint chair, where he stopped breathing. The guards pulverized for failing to produce his ID. He was found comatose with a broken neck, toes and severe internal injuries. One of his gang member names is CHAINSAW. Because, after he kills them, he cut them into pieces with his chainsaw. The other one name is shark. He has teeth that they are very sharp, wide, waged-shape. Those are exactly designed like sharps for catching and tearing apart preys. In this incredibly stylish, dark and subtly violent gang, I took a black look at those three entirely disparate generations I found each lacking. Those are essentially a group of drug-addled slackers looking to make easy money through crime and violence. They do also very little other than get high and talk a lot. It’s going to be great to catch up with them and meet them face to face. They were waiting for me at the Valrico bar and grill. I felt like I have to deal and cope with them. I was a little stress and panic by seeing them on that table by the time I walked in. I’ve taken off my leather trench coat. I now stood before them, hands-on-hips, with my leather boots ending just below my knees, stocking disappearing under a black skirt, and a white silk blouse on top. I know If Sandra finds out by this deal she will crucify me. I just started to drink excessively in an attempt to relieve my stress somehow. I want to win he (Ray), and his kinds over this battle. I want his miserable stained glass will be a symbol not of survival but of loses. I could feel the hate welling inside me, inside the regret, boiling over it swallowing the regret, swallowing me. I know I’m too young for this. This is not supposed to happen to people my age. Girls my age shouldn’t do that. I am dreaming. I know. These thoughts were running through my head as I realized what I had done. Hiring bunch of criminals, make a contract with them and put myself in a game of life and death! There’s no turning back now. The deal was done. It was over with and I had done it now. I wished I could kill him in my dreams and never get caught! However, in the very depths of my grief and devastated bewilderment, I became enslaved, obsessed by an idea fixe of owning my own plan. I know, death and self-hatred are symbolized so starkly it’s almost painful to feel! But in front of my eyes, I see them just in a fountain of blood. It was an unusually warm autumn evening. The rain had fallen softly, almost mist like for hours. Not enough to cancel the evening’s events, but enough to make it damp. It was almost midnight and I’m sitting here with him (Turbo). He was planning the first step and how they’re going to do! The way he was talking, that scared the shit out of me! I was trying to not get panic and then I told him; “Although you may not to be able to understand what I’ve been through! I hate him because, he took my life apart. He drugged my father, sent my step-mother to a coma after he shot her right in middle of the street and then I’ve been raped and left with too much pain. He raped my mind and left my heart sore, as I bled from the inside of my body’s core. Somewhere through the frozen fields, somewhere beneath my pain and tender skin, lies a house, absorbing fear and pain-solar, red, contained-feeding on my dreams. Somewhere cold, inside the optic wire, down where fingers and semen crack and bleed-there I want to wait for you. With my arms spread out and broken, I am expecting your help. I want you animate my veins and I don’t want to be alone. I want you make my thoughts will be numbered, malignant and cold. He just drew me hard into his arms and with a romantic tune told me that I am an excellent poet too. Then he slides his hands from my back down to my hips and pushed me off of him. I rested my forehead on his chest, keeping my arms tightly around him. He placed his hands on each side of my face forcing me to look at him. He wanted me to continue; “you see that asshole fucked my intelligence which was pure negligence on his behalf. He fucked me, raped me, bruised me, used me, and no one can defuse me or take away my pain. He took away everything from me and left salt in my open wounds and now I’m burning with despair with a handprint on my face. I want you steal his mind and crawl down inside of him. I want you feed his eyes to show him, how powerful you kill him and his gangs. I want to see how you cut out his core and steal the food in his head, and curl with it my body inside, down where it’s dark and you make it bright. This is really very difficult for me to see the children all lined up, naked at the wall. To see their skin is hanging off in sheets. Each face painted like clown to his eyes (Ray), and their blood is shining in the sun. Their wounds are powdered with white salt. Their lips are shaping silent words: I see my name as it spills out. How can I see them walking on their knees, led in a chain crying to his miserable eyes. I see them sucking on the dirt, as if inhaling the whole world. One by one their throat are cut and their blood, I wish makes him blind. Since I was eight years old, my father started to touch me in places he shouldn’t have. I never thought anything about it because I was never told about the good touch. I was dealing with a wide range of feelings and emotions. Yes, today I need your help to deal with my feelings, anger and my revenge. When I’m going through a panic attack, I feel everything getting out of my control! I feel everything around me getting too dark. It isn’t as much the dark that I’m afraid of, it’s the feeling of what maybe in the room that I cannot see. I always feel like someone is there, and is going to either kidnap, rape or kill me. It’s happening that when I home alone I feel that someone is going to break in and kill me. So, please don’t psychoanalyze me to figure out why I may be feeling panicky”! He said; “Don’t be afraid, moving on is always hard, taking that first step is a chance that we have to take. There is not any reason you should be so scared! I know it’s hard, but you can’t live life so cowardly with that false look still on your face! So, please wipe off the grim look that’s on your face. Fear can’t stop you now! Every inch that you take will mutilate the pain you have, and help you move on closer. No time to look back you’re on a steady pace”.

  Sometimes, I don’t feel hopeful or happy about anything in my life. I wake up every day and I just want to die. Nothing gives me pleasure anymore, and I feel life is pointless. I don’t feel much in the way of guilt about my pleasure. Anyways, he put his arms around me to stop me trembling. “Don’t worry. Everything’s to be all right. I promise you. You will see how I turn him down to kneel before you”. He said, trying to hide his fear. He said; “leave it alone because of all the spots they hang out at, that were number one. I know where they live at, I know where they are at, and I know what kinds of car they drive. You know, getting up on them there is not any problem, because they like to be at corners and they like go out and party too much so getting up on them there should be no problem absolutely. Those guys are very intimidated of me because, I guess, the lifestyle: I carry and they know… Busting a cat’s head wouldn’t mean shit! That’s for me is like; trying to keep a bull from a red dog”! He was talking about the influences in his life that shaped his successful acting career. An experience career motive set up by a talent full upstart killer master mind find himself in a turf battle neither much cares about. The skirmish eventually attracts. Pain and pleasure, the wormwood of sorrow and sweet of a
strange joy, were wonderfully and mysteriously mingled in the bosoms of me. After a long pause, during which we had a little recovered from our distressing emotions, I turned to him with a seraphic smile, and said gently; “This is the address for your first step. Please be careful”. Then he pulls away little so he can look into my eyes; “It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s the age gap…it just too much”. I nod, looking up at his lips, my only thoughts are- just one kiss, and just one kiss. As if he could read my mind, I felt him leaning forward again, and I started to lean forward too, and we kissed. I didn’t even realize it until I felt his lounge on my lips, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed and pulled away and hugged him. Then I pulled him forward by his belt, two steps. He didn’t stumble, but he did his hands on my upper arms. I must have caught him by surprise. I looked up, up into his face. But when he bent to kiss me again, this time I turned my head. “Let me guess”, he said into my ear; “You don’t want me to kiss you”? “You can kiss me”. I took his hand off my arm and put it between my legs, “Here”. I looked at him then, his expression gratified me immensely. His finger curled experimentally against me and pushed at the soft cloth of my skirt. I curled my fingers around his wrist and moved his hand down to the hem of my skirt, then up again to replace his palm against my panties. I thought, for one brief, strange second, he was going to turn me down. The heat of his hand seeped through my panties, but the flash of ice in his eyes left me cold. Then his fingers slipped inside my panties and found me already wet. We’ve fucked with tender-soft and sweet. So when he pulled me closer and slanted his lips across mine, I was already tense and waiting. He kissed me softly and pulled away. He looked into my eyes; “you are really charming and attractive”. I frowned, not wanting to talk, and when I opened my mouth he took my words away with another kiss and restless stroking of his hands. I’m not ashamed to admit I stretched under his touch. We kissed for a long time, all the way up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom. I kissed him with my eyes closed, trusting him to lead me so I wouldn’t stumble. We stopped just inside my bedroom door and pulled apart, both of us breathing fast and hard. I was made of feathers when he lifted me, but I became flesh when he laid me down. I’d worn clothes he could ruin without me crying, but he didn’t tear or rip anything from me. Kneeling between my legs, staring at me on his pillow, he only put his hand on my belly. The muscles jumped. When he smiled I almost couldn’t remember what it had been like not to love him, but I forced myself to. This was not going to be anything but what I’d intended it to be. I spread my legs a little as I inched up the hem of my skirt over my thighs. He put his hands to the hem of my skirt and lifted it run his fingers over the swell of my breasts. When his gaze met mine, we both smiled, which was a relief. There had been a moment at first when I thought this might turn awkward.

  Either sentimental or angry! It probably wasn’t a good choice when he ran his hands up the inside of my thighs and ran a finger underneath the elastic of my panties, I stopped worrying about it. I arched into his touch, my eyes closing in anticipation. He slid a finger along my clit, then another down to press gently at my opening. That’s when he stopped. I looked at him when he opened his pretty mouth, but all that came out was a hiss of air as he pushed inside me. I groaned as he crooked his finger against my sweet spot. He used his thumb on my clitoris at the same time, the familiar double whammy that had always worked for me. “You like that”? “Yes”, I told him. “I like that. He hooked his other hand into my silk panties and eased them down one side at the time as he kept up the in-out stroking. His eyes left my face to watch the motion of his hand, and I was glad. I didn’t want to watch him watching me. He stopped only for a few seconds, long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. I used the time to pull down the side-zip of my skirt, and he helped me up with that too. My shirt went next. We moved together, coordinated, until I lay naked on the bed. “Take off your pants”. I returned his hard stare. We’d never spoken much during sex. Now we are practically reciting declaration of independence. I toyed with my nipples, teasing him as he unbuttoned and unzipped. He wore a tight boy shorts cut high on his thigh. “Nice underwear”. I told him. With just a slight smirk, he stripped them off quickly before getting back on his knees again. His cock stirred, was still half-hard but rising, on his thigh. “Thanks”. His hand went stroke, stroke, stroke, and I was hypnotized. “Open your legs”. I woke up late in the morning light. I was lying on the floor. I was just surprised to feel a little smile on my lips from night before. He was already gone and I just crawled into bed. I couldn’t sleep, so I crept out of bed and took a long shower. I used to think that humor is the only way to appreciate how wonderful and terrible the world is, to celebrate how big life is. But now I think the opposite. Humor is a way of shrinking from that wonderful and terrible world. But more than that, no unloving words were ever spoken, and everything was held up as another small piece of proof that it can be this way. It doesn’t have to be that way. If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it heavy walls, and we will furnish it with soft red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler’s felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does. After I did some research on the internet and I found out that Federal have busted some drug-dealers who were caught selling illegal drugs, assault rifles, grenades. The first thought that occurred to my mind, was Ray black (Dillon). I thought he was in prison after he murdered two young girls after he raped them. There were also pictures of them, and even though I knew it would only hurt me to look at them. So, beside I wondered how he (Turbo) could reach him and kill him! But in the meanwhile, police were looking for three men they said shot and killed two men at a gas station early morning in an attempted carjacking. Captain Morris Hanson said the shootings happened around 8:30 a.m. at the Conoco gas station in the southwest 42th and Broadway. The victims pulled into the station in a white Ford Mustang Cobra, when some men approached them and later opened fired. They were shot in the chest and before the ambulance arrived they were already dead. A week later, there were some awful pictures on the first page of the papers. It said; a series of ruthless murders were taken in a house by Tenth Street and Wilshire. The victims were brutally tortured with chainsaw, then killed and cut up. Their parts were dumped in a remote area. Both, it turned out, had been enforcers for a drug lord and had decided to keep the money from a recent transaction rather than deliver it to the boss. I didn’t believe whatever it wrote, and not a word of that was true. In the dope game, there is nobody just going sit in no house with that much money and that much dope! There were things and stuffs about money. I say bullshit, just burry them. Later on, five more gang members were stabbed and more funny and irrational fears about it that, they’ve been bitten in their necks too though possible, all of this is speculation and ignores the fact that drug-market organization is not static. Distributors migrate to safer areas. They become less visible and more insular. They retreat and will comeback when stability returns. They become more organized as well. This speculation ignores the cultural ethos of the street corner, an ethos that renders subservience of any kind unacceptable. Yes, drug selling is profitable, entry is easy and opportunities are abundant. But the real allure of “Slinging” is autonomy. Dealers can work as little or as much as they want. There are no pre assigned duties. There is no boss to answer to. The only obligations one must meet are those one sets, and even these are not requisite. The streets are too chaotic and unpredictable to eradicate the specter of payback. Drug-dealers standing in the corner, bravely so stupidly showing their encouragement; bullshit stuff, same routine, and talking shit melody. “Fuck it, this drug robbery is what I do. Whatever happens, I don’t give a shit, it will happen! That’s how I got to look at it. If I die from something, I die. You could die of eating a piece of meat. The gum you chewing, you could die of that”. I believe, fatalistic attitudes are enormously liber
ating for those with so much to fear. They permit those who express them to shift responsibility for their destiny onto forces over which they have no control. Life is short and what will be, will be. So why obsess about potential consequences over which one has no jurisdiction? If we assume both the absence and presence of law makes things worse rather than better, and that drug-market violence drives urban violence in general, the question of order remains. They got to eat with their pistols, they got to go to the bathroom with their pistols and actually they got to take a shower with their pistols too. Everywhere they go, they have to take their guns with them. Bolstered by the confidence that only an ever-present firearm can provide, most offenders believe they can handle anything that come their way. Surely no one can deny that drug abuse is a serious moral problem in society today! 2/3 of American kids try an illegal drug before they finish high school. 1/3 of American kids try an illegal drug other than marijuana before they finish high school. I can scarcely say; virtually all who became addicted to hard drugs started with marijuana, which distorted their judgment and put them into the drug scene. I wonder, if the California introducing referendums to make marijuana legal, for putting the current criminal drug producers and sellers out of business or trying enabling government to collect tax on pot sold via legitimate channels? Why? Because the drug sellers don’t pay taxes! Or if they would pay taxes, they shouldn’t be illegal. Every year, a widely consumed illegal substance makes potential criminals of millions and actual of hundreds of thousands. And like booze during prohibition, this substance, marijuana, is the easy revenue of organized crime, contributing tens of billions of dollars to growers, who commit a variety of bad acts both at home and abroad. Ray is just one example amongst thousands. What about corruptions? There is so much material to cover and volume already compiled that they will first begin with recent news that many police officers arrested and another item by the Liberal Democrats announcing that bunch of those police officers have criminal records and are serving officers in the police. It’s not strange why I should be so mad at them! We always thinking let the law take care of them (I mean, the drug sellers). They are not church pastors; they are also not Doctors or pharmacists who, consulting you how far up your vagina you need to shove that Monistat 7 applicator (To hilt the baby, fish that fucker out with your fingertips! Generally, they are fucked up addicts who need money for drugs. More often than not they are greedy, desperate scum backs (Who wouldn’t shed a tear if you died). Don’t trust them-they don’t trust you. Now there is something really unique about me. Sometimes I’m really frustrated and mad at myself that these irrational fears are running what should be wonderful moments in my life. Terrible thoughts and picturing awful imaginations I can’t control them in my head. I have an uncanny supernatural ability to keep a straight face. Doesn’t matter how loud someone blows a fart. I won’t crack a smile, or laugh or anything but be Miss professional. Can a situation of bad luck ultimately turned out to be one of the best events should being happened in my life?! The streets awoke to the sounds of gunfire ringing out into the night. Gunfire broke out between anti-drugs dealers and drug dealers. The attack was followed by clashes in the streets between policemen and attackers. A dead body is laying there, a killer who’s been nicknamed Chainsaw. He was killed instantly, according to police spokesman. He said; the gangs use home and car burglaries as a primary source of revenue, along with drug dealing and an increase in these kinds of crimes can be used as an indirect indicator of gang presence. He said also, it’s pretty spread out, all over the city. But the misconception is that the part of east side has the most gangs. There are sixteen districts in the city, and every one of them except the airport has gangs. Ray, that motherfucker, is one of the maddest in the business. He is loved by some, feared by many, but respected by all. He is one of the city’s biggest drug dealers. He saw his first dead body lynched and hanging from a tree, when he was just four years old. When he was at 10, he watched from behind the washing machine a Laundromat as an old man was bludgeoned to death for fifteen cents. Physically has been abused by his mother, enticed by a life of crime. He earned his first long stretch in jail when he was nineteen. As an armed robber, he swapped holding up bars for a more lucrative and dangerous occupation: robbing drug dealers. His fights with prison guards meant he spent most of that time in solitary confinement. On the outside, he preferred to work alone. When he was coming up, one of the biggest drug dealers in the city would always telling him a real man stands alone. Then after all, he felt better working by himself. He only had a couple of friends who he was comfortable hustling with. They’d have to know anything he was going to do by a look; when they were robbing people, it was going to be perfect. Sandra came over and we hung out for a bit. I grabbed us both a beer. She ran to me, wrapper her arms around me and said she had come to tell all about her new relation. We immediately felt comfortable when we sat down and talked. We were talking about her new relationship, and how she felt so great. She was so excited, looks so happy with a new haircut, pink ribbons in her hair, new black shiny shoes and a pretty smile on her face. No doubt she is still a brilliant woman. It’s true that personal issues can take a toll in how you look but I think she looks very good. Let’s face it; she’s not in her twenties anymore. We all change our looks with years. Something good and funny about her, she is still good in speech and talking emotionally with full of desire to motivate me for life! She is talking about value of a woman. “A woman wants a man to tell her often how important she is to him and as well as showing her in his actions! Women like men who are communicates a problem to someone, she is generally looking for Empathy. When a man communicates a problem to someone, he is generally looking for an answer. These concepts are borrowed from the book; “Men are from Mars women are from Venus”. She said; he is nicer than she expected, and off course she crushes on him. She also says he is an extremely interesting man, so creative and such an interesting lawyer. I was excited, so I kept listening. “I was so astonished and bewildered, and unable, sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition when he told me in a voice of thunder; “you must prepared to be a female for me, with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to Concede”. “It sounds to me kind of he should devastated by many women in his entire life! Thinking opposite of my own father, how he was so stupid and how would he let go of someone like you, who loved him when he hadn’t been able to stay faithful and hide it from you”! I said to her. Recently when people speaking to me, I never would have communicate with them! I feel so stupid for trying to ignore it for so long. Imagine you’re swimming along the bottom of a pool, tasked with analyzing a pattern of marketing on the bottom. You’re finally starting to understand what you see and make some sense of it, when suddenly a voice transmits down into the water, “Hey! Come up now”! So you break away from your pattern, totally loosing what you’d accomplished so far, and haul yourself out through all the water, surfacing, looking around, and trying to focus on the person who summoned you to see what is so important. “Are you here? Are you listening to me”? “Sure. What’s up”? “Oh. Nothing, I just thought you swimming so deep down there so I wanted to stick my head in and say hi”. “What”? That is how I feel all the time when I am around the people. I should be plagued with unwanted thoughts! I believe I am diagnosed with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I can tell how bad it is at any given moments by the number of times they talk to me! I am quite sure this is Ray who is bordering on reckless in many areas of my life but is brought to my knees with fear from thoughts that are totally irrationals. Anyways, What if I’d told her about my plans to her! Definitely, her fear and anger will swell up! Most hatred is based on fear, one way or another. Yap, I will wrap her in anger, with a dash of hate, and at the bottom of it all will an icy center of pure terror! Anger…it’s a paralyzing emotion…you can’t get anything done. People sort of think it’s an interes
ting, passionate and igniting feeling—I do think it’s any of that—it’s helpful…it’s presence of control—and I need all of my skills, all of the control, all of my powers…and anger does provide any of that—I have use for it whatsoever. The relentless beating heart was beginning to confuse me and I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far her suspicions hadn’t alighted on me. Then I had discovered that she was looking and staring with a cold, critical, and skeptical eye on me. I just burst into tears unexpectedly. She didn’t know why I was crying! I felt I was not prepared mentally, spiritually and emotionally to tell her about my secret revenge. This condition I was broke in upon by her charming. She strived to comfort me, but how shall I let her knows, that all the comfort she gives me was to make my tears flow more easily? She knows she quickens my sorrows, and rejoices my heart at the same time. She kneels and bids me be comforted and I took her in my arms. I wish it were possible for me to have a sense of these pleasing perplexities! She said she had nothing to say, for she was resigned, and I knew all she knew what concerned me in this world! The only thought that I had not to be alone, that in the presence of God only I might, without interruption thanking her for her kindness to me. She hoped in last moments I should feel the same comfort for my goodness to her, as she did in that she had acquitted herself with honor, truth and virtue to me. I curb myself, and will not tell her that this kindness cut my heart in twain. When I expected an accusation for some passionate starts of mine, in some parts of our time together, to say nothing but thank her for the good, if there was any good suitable to her own excellence! All that I had ever said to her, all the circumstances of sorrow and joy were between us. Suddenly, I felt for a second dizzy and I fell down off the couch on the floor. Some kind of pain was coursing through me felt like I was being set on fire. What the fuck, I gasped out. The ringing of the telephone was like a sonic boom to my already splitting headache. I reached blindly for it and snatched it out of its cradle. I put it to my ear and listened. I didn’t say anything, Matter of fact, I couldn’t say anything if I wanted to. I listen as the screaming grew louder and raspier and then died off. I slammed the phone down and got painfully to my feet. Poor Sandra was flabbergasting looking at me with her wide eyes. Then I ran to the bathroom. I washed my face almost seven times and then I brushed my hair, smothering it out from root to tip as I stood in front of the mirror. Then I came back to the living room. The haze sun filled my house through the large window that exposed my living room. She was flabbergasted to find out what the hell was wrong with me, when she saw me in that mood! The flabbergasting, overcame her and she just stood and stared, too shocked to comprehend what she was seeing! She surprise took my hand I started applying pressure on her hand just like old times doing things we used to do. Then we were both staring quizzically at each other. Her hand, soft to feel, as hard so a rock, and she suddenly smiled at me and let her hand relax in mine. I tried increasing the pressure until my hand started shaking. Soon I had to relieve my grip as my palm was hurting and there was practically nothing I could do to even hurt her. Then she started giggling at me quite teasingly. “So, tell me what’s wrong! Something has you upset? What is it you’re hiding from me? There must be something you’re hiding from me. I know you Jennifer; don’t try playing game with me. I want you tell me what is it? I know you used to be at keeping your mind off of bad stuff and troubles. I see frustration roots from fears deep inside you. So, what is it?” My heart is been troubled by the speed of revenge. She wants me to tell her the truth. So, what is the truth! I don’t see, no truth or lie into it. I just want to revenge. I just want to break him into pieces. There is much truth; what comes around, goes around. I told her loud and clear; “I feel like I can move on until I get revenge and break him up. I want to see him, lying on the floor shattered, battered, and bruised”. She looked deep into my eyes and told me; “Don’t screw up the thing might happened to you just because you are a little unsure about who you are! Don’t let him to build you up to get revenge, because the higher you think you are, the harder you fall, and trust me you will fall. This is not a game, this is real. You don’t have no idea what goes on through your mind. Remember, hope is the walking dream and beyond your dreams lives a secret world and you call it Revenge. When you begin to a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself. Dear Jennifer, people want the dream; what they can’t have, the more unattainable, the more attractive. The only reason everything holds onto memories so tight it cause memories are the only thing that doesn’t change when everything else does. When her cell phone beeped, she ducked her head and grabbed it. Her fiancée had just sent her a text. Before she opened it, she looked at me and smiled, but suddenly, this time it started to ring. She hurried to answer. She had her eyes on me while she was talking to the phone. Then she squeezed my hand and she said she had to go. She stood on the door for some minutes and looked at me with a pity look. A look of complete dread and sorrow and pity in her eyes when she was looking at me! I found it almost insulting. She looked at me as though I was already gone. Then she said in some tone; “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say!”…more pity eyes…”I’m sorry”. I am in a full of revenge. I’m not cheek turner. If you kill my dog, you’d better hide your cat.