My fingers ache as the air leaves my victim's lungs and my shoulders rack with sobs. Her face is a dark blue-purple, her eyes are glazed over and staring at nothing. The guilt is unbearable. It's eating me from the inside out, clawing at my gut and showing itself through my tears and my pathetic wails. I walk to the bathroom, leaving the body lying on the floor, and stare into the mirror at my ghastly reflection. I feel the anger taking over me, drowning out the guilt.
"No, Jess. You had to do this. She deserved it. You know that."
Guilt.
"No no no no no. What did I do oh God what did I do?"
Anger.
"Shut your fucking mouth. She abused you. She abused every orphan who lived here. You know that."
Guilt.
"But she didn't have to die." I whispered.
Anger.
"Yes she did!" I screeched. "I needed to kill her! I had to!"
Guilt.
"I had to. I had to. I had to." I couldn't argue with myself. With her. She was a part of me. She wanted me to agree.
She wanted me quiet.
She wanted me mindless.
And that's what I am.
Mindless. At my own hand.
