Cursed and Lonely: The Stop

Chapter 5: Regret

There was no sound. There was no movement. He was screaming but it couldn't be heard. He was crying but it couldn't be heard. He was beating himself up but it couldn't be heard.

He had been laying on her dead body for what felt like hours. His hate had faded. He realized what he had done. He had killed someone. He was a murderer. Why had he done this? Why did he lose himself? He shouldn't have done that. He should have just walked away. He should have just ignored her.

He couldn't handle it, he couldn't live with it. He couldn't accept it. What would people say if they found out what he had done. They would despise him. If only those memories didn't get to him. If only hate didn't take over his body.

What he had done could not be undone. He could not travel back in time. There was no way to reverse it. He did not even have the slightest idea how he would start time. He was a trash bag, a murderer, an enemy of society. He had sunken so low, he had killed someone. No one would ever see a murderer as a saviour. No one would ever approve of someone who had killed another human being.

He was not the one. He was not some saviour that would save humanity. He was not some legend. He was not someone that would appear in the history books. He was a murderer. He was nothing else. His hands were full of blood, so were his jacket and pants. The blood still looked fresh even though it had been hours. It didn't dry.

There was no way he could clean this off with just toilet paper and clothes. His body felt heavy. He could not move at all. With every moment that passed he started to regret it more and more. With his weak fisted hands on her chest and his head resting on his fists. With every moment that passed he realized more and more what he had done.

He didn't want this. Why was he the only one that could move? Why was he born just to kill someone? Why was he even born in this world? He had never asked to be alive. He did not ask for this stupid life.

He started crawling away from the dead body. He did it slowly since he could not move any faster. His stomach turned upside down. It hurt. It felt like that one time when he was sick. He had felt that pain during a night. He needed to rush to the toilet and let it all out. He spend hours on the toilet scared that he would not be able to hold it. Just like then he was shivering.

The colour on his skin had faded. He started sweating. He was still crawling away from her body but much slower. He couldn't keep it in any longer. He let it all out. He hadn't eaten that much at all but he vomited all out. He had no time to be surprised neither did he feel like being surprised.

The vomit was yellow, he could even see what he had eaten before. He did not care, It felt like everything was surreal. Some of it was on his pants and jacket. It would have smelled bad but it didn't.

He felt a second wave coming up. He tried to hold it in as long as he could but he could not hold it in any longer. And once again he let it all out. His head was spinning, he could not see properly. Everything was blurry. It kept coming. It was like his stomach had an endless supply of vomit.

His body was in pain. His throat hurt. It was burning hot. It felt like someone cut his throat open and scraped over it with a dull knife. All of his muscles hurt. He felt another wave coming. Once again he was unable to stop it. Nothing came out. But he kept on going. His body was against him. What he had done was unforgivable.

It took a while before his body started to feel normal again. He still could not move. He had trouble breathing. He looked terrible, there was blood all over his face, his jacket and pants. Blood mixed with vomit. He felt weak. It felt like he could faint at any moment.

His head started spinning again. Everything faded. His body started to feel weaker and weaker. He didn't want to lose consciousness in a place like this. He was scared. If time would start moving again at this moment there was no way he would be able to talk himself out of this situation. For the first time he didn't want time to move again.