aurora | 1952

02

November 13th, 1952

I stare at the deceased body resting in front of me, guilt draping over me like a blanket. I sit in shock, mouth agape, for minutes.

Or I should say, what felt like minutes.

Despite my unbothered posture, I've been sitting cross-legged, gawking, for an hour. The clock on the wall ticks,

1:26 am.

I need a plan, right? That's what I need. A plan. Neglecting my searing headache and uncomfortable exhaustion, I reach to my feet and stand, still in disbelief. My legs crack, crying out with cramps. I pace, and pace, and pace.

I'm not a murderer, am I?

It was self defense, that's all.

How would I have known he was going to grab a kitchen knife?

I have to turn myself in.

Or, there has to be some other way.

Before getting ahead to any other actually productive thoughts, I collapse to the ground, my exhaustion deciding my next step for me.

Not that easily though.

꧁꧂

I wake up at 5am. Nice full night's rest, in my eyes. My baggy eyes, I should rephrase. Groggily, I smack my hand to my head, the intoxicating stench of the corpse filling my apartment. At least I'm sure Tilly escaped. She would've known better than to stay here any longer. I just hope some nice old lady finds her, and I mean an old lady unlike the one last night.

I stretch to my feet, honestly relieved that my fucked sleep schedule alarmed me this early. It gives me time to think, which should be just thrilling.

Reaching for my kitchen, to actually start erasing this tragedy, I groan in agony. What have I done? They'll have me hung by tomorrow if I don't get an act together.

It's not like it's normal behavior for a king to break into an apartment, high on god knows what. There has to be some use of that. I dont watch the news, but I'm pretty sure that's not a reoccurring theme.

I aggressively scrub the stained area, frustrated. There goes this flooring. Eh, a wrecked place is the least of my worries. I can't help but ignore the limp body in front of me, and I don't plan on giving it attention for as long as I can hold out. No words can explain the way I feel about death, especially death I impacted on someone. So, disgust plus guilt? Not a great combination.

Drawing the knife from his hand, a side of my mouth twitches. I'm not trying to reject the fact that this is my mess, I just really don't feel like doing this right now. Or ever, to say the least. And I thought my neighbors were disappointed in me yesterday. Imagine what they'll think watching my face plastered all over the news.

I shake away my thoughts, sliding the knife back into it's original position. The least I can do is make this place look nice, am I right?

Haha. I must be going insane. The dull expression on my face remains as I check the wound. It looks just deep enough to actually do some damage, and it looks like it barely stopped bleeding. Wow, I really screwed myself on this one, huh.

I'm hysterical.

I scrunch my face, hesitating what I know is next. Breathing in a (somewhat) calm disposition, I prod the side of the man's torso with my foot, shoes still on.

Looking away, gulping, I swiftly kick the king over. His face is the least expressed I've ever seen. Even on all of the posters, where he practically looked dead.

An ant slowly crawls over his leg, as I fall to my knees. Why am I so calm about this? Is there something wrong with me? Why am I asking myself so many of these fucking useless questions? I can't take it.

My hands fly to my hair, gripping and pulling as I scream out. The pain is blinding, but now I can feel an eighth of what I just made this guy feel. Quickly wiping a tear falling from my eye, I shoot my eyes towards the clock once more,

5:31

How? It's felt like hours! I sit, and pull, and pull, and pull more hair until I spring to my kitchen for what seems like the 100th time. Tears wet my cheeks but I hardly notice. My mind is spinning.

Taking a sharp inhale, I walk over to the waste basket, hands full with bloody rags. The bag in the basket swooshes as the bags drop, telling me to refresh it and continue procrastinating. At this point, life in a cell seems like heaven. A slice of cake.

I grab a new garbage bag from the drawer. As it dawns on me.

My plan.

I can't help but grin.