Chapter 2
The journey towards the police station was a quite one. I just looked out the window seeing nothing unusual, just passing by buildings and houses, trying to remember what had happened earlier on, tonight.
I couldn't remember anything, the only memory I've got was when I woken up on the hard wooden floor. Closing my eyes and letting unshed tears run down my cheeks, telling myself I couldn't have killed them. 'And, with a knife...Which meant that you have to push it right in their bodies. I can never do that. It not in me to kill, is it?'
Ugh...I shouldn't be thinking about this. But, I just can't help it. I know deep in my heart and soul that I'm not responsible for the killings.
I'm not a religious person, haven't been to church for years, only as a child even then I was force to. Every Sunday at 7 o'clock to eat breakfast and get ready, missing all the children's program which are to this day classics and much better then what children see these days And for what? An hour of your life; sitting in a cold church, on an uncomfortable bench, listening to an old guy preach which bored you to tears.
As a child you believe what your are told. 'Do the right thing and you go to heaven.' As you grow up and gone from junior school to senior school and the years go by. Your faith and beliefs start to drift specially when you are in religious education classes. As you get one teacher contradicting the other, or one that was really devoted that wouldn't except Christmas cards, that have 'x-mas' instead. Why am I bringing this up now? The truth is I don't know. I just find ironic that how many times I bitched about the whole religious thing, and maybe confused by it, when something like this happens you can't help but pray, pray to 'him' upstairs for forgiveness and pray for your victims saying that you're sorry. One can only hope that someone 'up there' had heard me, and when the night is over through some miracle. I be free, free from the police and free from 'myself.'
The journey towards the police station was a quite one. I just looked out the window seeing nothing unusual, just passing by buildings and houses, trying to remember what had happened earlier on, tonight.
I couldn't remember anything, the only memory I've got was when I woken up on the hard wooden floor. Closing my eyes and letting unshed tears run down my cheeks, telling myself I couldn't have killed them. 'And, with a knife...Which meant that you have to push it right in their bodies. I can never do that. It not in me to kill, is it?'
Ugh...I shouldn't be thinking about this. But, I just can't help it. I know deep in my heart and soul that I'm not responsible for the killings.
I'm not a religious person, haven't been to church for years, only as a child even then I was force to. Every Sunday at 7 o'clock to eat breakfast and get ready, missing all the children's program which are to this day classics and much better then what children see these days And for what? An hour of your life; sitting in a cold church, on an uncomfortable bench, listening to an old guy preach which bored you to tears.
As a child you believe what your are told. 'Do the right thing and you go to heaven.' As you grow up and gone from junior school to senior school and the years go by. Your faith and beliefs start to drift specially when you are in religious education classes. As you get one teacher contradicting the other, or one that was really devoted that wouldn't except Christmas cards, that have 'x-mas' instead. Why am I bringing this up now? The truth is I don't know. I just find ironic that how many times I bitched about the whole religious thing, and maybe confused by it, when something like this happens you can't help but pray, pray to 'him' upstairs for forgiveness and pray for your victims saying that you're sorry. One can only hope that someone 'up there' had heard me, and when the night is over through some miracle. I be free, free from the police and free from 'myself.'