Mark stared at the empty basket where his precious peanuts should have been. His brow furrowed in disbelief, he scanned the yard, searching for any sign of the thief. "Not again," he muttered to himself, recalling the previous times his peanuts had mysteriously vanished. Determined, he set out to uncover the culprit behind the disappearance.

Mark crouched down, peering through the foliage. There, nibbling contentedly on his missing peanuts, was Squeaky, a notoriously mischievous squirrel with a sleek gray coat and a twitching tail. "There you are," Mark whispered, feeling a mix of anger and admiration for the creature's audacity.

Mark stood up, his shadow looming over the bushes. "You've taken your last peanut, Squeaky," he declared, his voice carrying a hint of menace. Squeaky, sensing the change in tone, paused mid-bite, his eyes meeting Mark's with a gleam of defiance.

Mark dashed after the squirrel, his footsteps heavy on the grass. "Come back here!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet night. Squeaky leapt onto a low branch, pausing briefly to look back at Mark, as if to mock him.

Mark, fueled by a growing sense of desperation, grabbed a nearby stick. His grip tightened as he approached Squeaky, who was now cornered against the fence. "This is it," Mark muttered, raising the stick. In a swift, impulsive motion, he swung.

Mark stood frozen, staring down at the still form of Squeaky. The weight of his actions settled heavily on his shoulders, a cold realization washing over him. "What have I done?" he whispered into the night, his voice filled with regret. The stars above seemed to watch silently, bearing witness to the unraveling of a man's moral compass in the quiet solitude of his own backyard.