I would like to say something kind of witty to a certain youth. A some what self obsessed youth that likes to gloat or ridicule. A teenager that, like most teenagers, thinks he knows it all.
However I'm disturbingly haunted by an image of my hands locked around his throat. Pressing the
only aspect of his masculinity, his Adams apple, ever further into his wind pipe. Feeling his terrified hands tugging relentlessly on my wrists, unbelieving, shocked.
Gritting my teeth, expanding veins in my face as I poor on the coal squeezing tighter and tighter with increasing voraciousness. Watching the youths expressions. Analyzing each contortion in his face. Peering into his eyes watching his soul scream. Bubbles of mucus and snot exploding from his nose as I finally block his wind pipe. His chest frantically beating searching for air, eyes bulging and his hands weakening.
Eventually smiling through my contorted expression whilst witnessing him gurgling snot, grunting, air diminishing in his blood stream. Gleefully realising his muscles are starting to feel like lead as he claws on my wrists. That once vibrant cocky soul now pleading, hoping, preying from the darkness of his mind but I have the prize in my hands and, that prize "little boy", is....................
RESET 
muhahaha:t
Well done rooks
