I tire from all of these.
Life has gotten to the point where I feel remorse because I live, because I live, because I am me. In the sorrows of my room I find the voices of the past, present and future, haunting me, somehow haunting me, they are what keep my sanity, which is still fleeting. Instinctively I curl to warm my self, but the shiverieness I feel is not what can be instantly remedied but one, that reflects my inner soul, abandonment and betrayal. It is my twin. I am trapped in a repeated dance of distress, as if I were a wind up doll. It repeats over and over again trapping both my mind and body. It happened again to day when I killed a small girl. She had been turned into a vampire and was on the final stage of transformation, when I found her. I let her have her last moments of sanity and assured her it was going to be ok, the berretta was shaking in my hand, but then I shot her, crimson blood spilled over the white snow. Yet I refused to cry, I cradled the small girl in my arms for a long while, holding her while the warmth slipped from her body. Yet I had no choice. In a way I have saved her, I have allowed her to have her final moments before I sent her to a better place. Yet it begs the question, is there really a better place after life? No one knows what happens afterwards, one can only wonder, as one would wonder at the stars on a blistery cold winter night. I wish it were over, I wish that i was dead. I hold my small hand gun in my hands, and press the baretta's icy barrel to my skull. Soon it will all be over.