(On that night, a person lay dead. And someone else, who deserved to die, wished they could change everything.)
I knew what I had to do. There was simply no choice. It was the only way. somehow I wished I could do something different. But why, I wondered? Why on earth did this mean so much to me? It was just one more person. Then all this would be over. Well, maybe not everything, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about being caught. This was exactly what I needed. But somehow it didn't feel right.
There was a moment that day, which I will never forget. It was one of intensity and emotion. A man lay on the floor, dying in front of me. I was responsible. As he lay dying, I realized that I would regret this later. He didn't deserve this, I should be the one dying. But it was too late. I wanted desperately to apologize as I watched the life slowly leave him, but there were other people here. I couldn't reveal myself. So I said nothing. When he stared into my eyes, he knew I was the one who was killing him. I saw the fear, the pain, of knowing that, in his dark eyes. Somehow I felt dead inside, but victorious at the same time. He couldn't do anything to stop me now. I had complete control over him. I had won.