Chapter 90 Detriment

• I didn't like art at all. I never saw the meaning of a painting under the acrylic colors that the artists used to mix to create the portraits. I only knew the meaning of dark art right in front of me.
• The swift motions of the gang who tried to aim for Levy and his mother with deep scowls on their faces and angry lines painted on their foreheads were like something out of a Da Vinci painting or the way I held the gun and pulled the trigger across their foreheads that made the bodies collapse and blood sprinklers on the middle of their foreheads that soaked the floor.
• My heart and mind were somewhere outside of this world. The screams of war that came out of the mixed gang made my anger rise as I relentlessly held the trigger over and over, using the wall as a shield from their deadly rifles.