Who knew how red blood was? As I watch large quantities of the liquid pour down into the beige carpet, I can't but be shocked of how brutally the mass of blood stains the fabric. Suddenly Macbeth makes so much more sense to me,; "who knew the old man had so much blood in him?"..

Except he isn't old. His face is distorted, his mouth curved into a strange smile. He is so familiar to me now. Not like before when his coldness and arrogance made me distance me from him. But then it happened. I knew we had met before. In a time people only believe was a fairytale, written by a loveable English professor.

But we know differently, my victim and I. I don't know when he realised the truth. For me it was such a cliché. Watching "Two Towers" with the man I love, holding hands in the darkness of the cinema, and suddenly feeling my stomach clench as I am faced with my story. My family's story, our sorrows and our joys.

Tor never understood why I broke down in tears. And how could I explain it to him? There are people who believe that we have all lived lives before this, but I knew Tor would not be one of them.

My victim must have known all along. His deeds must have followed him like a plague all through his life, explaining why a seemingly loving family and a successful business didn't seem like enough for him. And one day his eyes met mine during a lunch break with colleagues. And I knew he had to die.