Murder didn’t mean much to Raven. To him, it was like a random, deformed cloud that floated away with power and rained with the tears of sorrow, guilt, remorse and regret. In the midst of other clouds, it was pushed and pulled with the force of lost hopes, crushed dreams, endless possibilities and tempting opportunities. Raven shied away from this ever-expanding force of murder and loss, his whole life. No matter how hard he ran from this black cloud of treachery, it still hung above him, threatening to bring about a storm. He couldn’t deny the headlines of death that popped on the pages of every newspaper and strained the voices of the innocent and naïve. The safely hidden gun in the top left drawer in his basement was his only connection he had with the life he gave up on and continuously ran from. However, the world of murder, crime and darkness had other plans for him. His mentor once said, “Murders are chosen by the ancient gods of death and once chosen, accepted and embraced in darkness, there is no way out. Ever.” Day and night Raven prayed for him to be wrong. Innocent blood stained his black soul maybe that is why those words dripped with truth. There were no ordinary days for him as his hand twitches with temptation to hold the precious metal of his gun which fit perfectly in his calloused hand. He tried to forget the guilty pleasure the gun brought him when he pulled the trigger and heard the musical blast. Murder didn’t mean much to Raven, but it meant the world to him at the same time.