Secrets

The blood he finds in the handkerchief scared him the first time he saw it. The bright crimson he had seen so often now on his skin and clothes, on the streets, was now in the pristine white of the bleached cloth, standing out like a lie to all he had ever known.

It became his little secret. The hacking cough, the handkerchief, the cloth. The smoky flames as he burns the evidence, burns the secret so he can forget that it ever happened. He kills, dies inside. The blood he sheds stain the secrets.

The secrets that kill...