There’s always a darker need beneath those that preach good word to others. It’s a factor of life really. The tighter you roll all your personality and desires into that facade of truth and goodness, the more it wrings you out like a dirty sponge for all of it to be seen bare. Some hold it in better than others, but that just adds onto a more explosive finish.
One of my more recent cases had that kind of a man. Fellow by the name of Lionel Troy. On the surface he was the savior of Arcadia, in the name of Zion. For merely a small tithe of seven dollars a week and you too could embrace the love of Zion.
Then the photos hit my desk.
The pressure came on, and the sin that drove him was squeezed out. Behind the helpful facade was a wall of drug use, money laundering, and abuse. The savior of Zion was in fact, a sham. But he went after the wrong people, and vanished like a thief in the night.
For the vice outweighed the virtues in the end, and he was left with nothing but running.
Vices always get you. Different people have different ones. Where one holy leader may have a heart full of greed, another holds wrath. Embracing a text to the fullest while burning anyone who oppposes them. Literally, in this case. It’s hard to forget the smell of a burned corpse, or to have such clear evidence. Few are stubborn and stupid enough to kill a man in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses.
Unless they want to send a message.
Because Andre wasn’t the real intention of Graves wrath. He was a message to the real target, and yet left himself open like a book. A bull in a china shop makes more noise than a cow in a field. You want to be seen, you want to be feared. Roaring out your message, you desire to be the one on top.
But a bull in a pen is led on by the rodeo rider.
You’re far from the first killer I’ve had to tango with. Haven’t met a threat that I haven’t faced directly onwards, horns clashing. You’re easily made to be mad, and come barreling forward into whatever you think stands in your way.
But I haven’t met a bull that’s beaten the slaughterhouse yet.
So come with your high and mighty preachings, try to correct what you think is wrong and immoral. Your hands are already covered in the consequences of your wrath, and you’ve only just begun. You’re blind to the inevitable charging forward, seeing the red being waved in front of your face.
You’ll run right where I want you to.
Because at the end of the day, your wrath builds everything up you are. It’s the vice that oozes out when you try and lead others and start your crusade. And anyone that swings it around like a club is someone that can be beaten by their own vice.