World of worlds of Strangers: The telling of a tale

"The world is full of many people--many people and many, many different worlds. Perhaps I might share a few with you...Your opinions would be greatly appreciated," Wordsmith pauses to offer you a hesitant smile,"even--if not especially--if you do not enjoy it," Sitting back on their heels, they tilt their head curiously up at you for no more than half a second before closing their eyes and beginning the story.

Chapter 1

Old Red Eyes

"Shut up," He growled, flashing a glare to the bottom of the glass before turning it to the empty bottle on the table before him. His scowl deepened and he curled his lip. "I didn't do it," He lied, voice cracking. He sank into his chair and swept the bottle to the floor with the rest of them, carelessly shattering it. "I didn't want to hurt him. He asked for it. He was asking for it," The lie tasted ugly bitter in his mouth and he tried to swallow the lump that was suddenly making it hard to breathe.
Danny slid to the floor with a hollow sigh, staring down at his bloodstained shoes and wanting to die. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his damp and muddy shoes before falling straight into the bottle. It had taken him a full four hours to trek through the wilderness to the spot where he'd dumped the body, There was no sign of the others--he could only guess what kind of animal had eaten them. The winters were hard for these parts. His father had taught him at a young age how to get away with the grisly work of murder.
For all his lies, Danny Johnson had killed the stranger he'd met in the pub. He'd gotten into a useless argument and slaughtered him in cold blood.
worse, He'd loved it. He slammed his fist against the ground, hard enough to sting. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't a murderer...
He'd known all along that one day he'd snap. He'd known all along, and no matter what he told himself or how long he tried to avoid it, it happened. Danny stared into the space between him and the ceiling and tried very hard not to think about the family that he knew the man had left behind or about any of the families of the other four people who had come after the man at the bar.
"This Is your fault, you bastard," He growled at the empty room, as his father had long died. "The son of a murderer will also be a murderer," He curled his lip in disgust. He is a pitiful picture, to be sure. Covered in flecks of blood and mud, the smell of filth and despair and liquor giving Danny's world a sickly amber haze. His eyes were black and sunk deep into his skull, mouth a tight sneering scowl as he shivered against the deathly chill of his own mind despite the sticky july weather. Sitting on the floor of his own apartment, smelling of death and filth and anguish, the last thing he saw before he fell asleep was the face of the first man---Old Red Eyes that would haunt him to the very moment of his passing.

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