The Power of Words

I have blood on my hands. I thought I was helping people, and be a real-life version of a superhero from a comic book, but it all backfired. I've killed people because I couldn't control myself.

At first I did what it because I wanted to help people, I was a bleeding heart with a knack for investigation and writing. And this was the perfect opportunity for me to make my city, a better place for all. But I never could use my abilities responsibly.

As you can guess I am a former journalist. I ran the paper by myself and I was for the most part non-profit.

When I first started writing, I went to the slums and published articles on the poor educational options and violence there. My paper sold like ice cream in July, and within two weeks the mayor announced there were plans on revitalization projects in "troubled neighborhoods".

These projects had just been a P.R stunt to quiet the public, and I angrily condemned the mayor and the city council in every article I wrote. And when the public found out they threw a Molotov Cocktail into the mayors house, then all his neighbors' houses.

People began to blame me for what had happened. It was all over the news and there were rumors that I was among the angry mob. Now everyone hates me and ignores my paper, and I am alone and voiceless, a fate worse than death for a bleeding heart.