For my fifteenth birthday, I killed the wife of an evil man. He was a drug dealer who raped and killed women. So why not kill him? The woman was so kind, I was disguised as an orphan street dweller, and she invited me into her home for a bath and food. I butchered her with the same knife she cut my slice of bread with. I wanted to cry, but I dared not to. With an achy chest, I walked home. The snow woman pat me on the head for a job well done. That night, I realized that the number six my sister mumbled a long time ago was the number of people she had already killed. By now, even more. What was this feeling? My heart hurt, but my mind was empty. Then I realized that it was just easier if I did not think about what I was doing, to lose all consciousness and rid of all emotions.