The man who was a hero stood before the corpses, his once-golden hair matted black to his scalp in thick and bloody knots, his skin tattooed with grime and criss-crossed by the scarred mementos of his many victories.
He had slit the throats of tyrants and dictators, duplicitous politicians, corrupt priests, rapists, murderers, thieves, cheats, adulterers, liars and slanderers.
Finally, he had stopped.
“I have killed all who have sinned,” he said, with some regret, “There are no monsters left.”
He was wrong.
Simon John Cox 