The dark smell of blood running down my thighs is disgusting.
His breath, a mixture a booze and success is revolting.
His breath, coming in ragged and quick gasps, caused by his completion.
I wish I could die, Hell has to be better than this.
Than again maybe I already died and went to Hell for letting this happen to me, for letting myself be dirtied, and having to relive this moment over and over again as my penance.
No, that can't be true, God can't condemn me for something that I didn't choose to do.
Or can He?
Wasn't that why He was condemned to His death, for being a good little boy as I have been a good little girl, and then being killed for helping others see the light.
Maybe He wanted to show me how it felt: this hot, searing, agony all over.
When I think about it, I pity Him, for having to suffer for three days not complaining, but forgiving.
Forgiving the people that hurt Him the most, saying He would have mercy on their souls, when their time came.
And maybe that's what I should do now in these last few minutes of my life.
I can already feel my life slipping away, like water trickling down a glass window.
As I think of all of this, I know that instead of complaining, I need to forgive.
And with my last breath as I see my misunderstood neighbor standing over me smiling haughtily at his few seconds of dominance, I look up and say...
"Though I may not know you, or the reason for why you did this unforgivable act of ripping my innocence away from my soul, I forgive you, and when no one else will, I'll love you."
And I die, with a smile on my face.
Because God would want me to be happy; that is when I finally meet him.
Won't I?