The Violent Type

A man waits for his execution, speaking his last words to a silent priest. In a voice stripped bare, he recounts the trail of violence that followed him from boyhood; the bird he broke, the bar fights that turned fatal, the strangers who crossed his path and never walked away. There are no excuses here, no pleas for mercy. Only the blunt rhythm of confession, the weight of memory, and the certainty of the end waiting down the hall.