1. When Your Legs Don't Work Like They Used To Before

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When I was six years old, ed sheeran broke into my fucking house and broke my leg with a baguette. He ripped me out of my bed and just kept whacking me again and again until I was bleeding everywhere, crying hysterically as my leg was fracturing from the impact. His dead, crossed eyes stared menacingly at me, blood splatters on his ginger hair and maic face. And then my legbone finally cracked apart. I could see my own bone jutting trough my mangled flesh, hysterically screaming and losing consicousness. He stopped hitting me, and said with a calm voice;
"Now your leg won't work like it used to before."

20 years later:
I promised myself a long time ago that i'd get my revenge. It was a chrisp autumn night, and the gun was heavy in my rectum. I felt the cool metal dig into me, but remained calm. The line to the venue of Ed Sheeran's concert was long, but I had been waiting for a long time. It was finally my turn to get inside. I passed the security check with no problem, the gun secure in my asshole.
As i got to the barricade in front of the stage, the lights were dim. And in no time the show was on.
Ed walked to the stage with a smile, his crossed eyes gleamed in the stage lights. My leg ached in responce, and a strike of fear ran trough me. The crowd was wild. This was my chance: i put my hand into my pants and slowly pulled the gun's barrel out. It was all sticky now, but I didn't care.
"Good evening finland!" He yelled, not seeing me in the front row steadying my grip. I aimed at him, and then, our eyes met. His sight locked to mine, and with an eary smile he nodded at me, as if he remembered. I bit my lip. This was it. My only chance.
And i pulled the trigger.

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⏰ Last updated: Jan 05, 2020 ⏰

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