THE KILLER

	Sticky, dark red liquid surrounds me.  What happened here?  My mind is in a 
twisted state of confusion, for I'm standing in the middle of the blood.  I hate blood, the
 sight of it, the smell of it.  Yes!  Blood does have a smell; a rusty, coppery smell 
which I can't stand.  I feel sick to my stomach, and so  I run upstairs to the bathroom.
  My jeans are soaked with the blood, with that wretched feel to it; like slimy worms crawling through your skin.  I shiver as the cold, sticky blood feels like it's surrounding 
me- spreading through my body like a vicious disease.
 
	I take my clothes off and jump into that warm, soothing, calming shower.  The 
shower that heals the sick feeling in my stomach, while I scrub off the unclean blood.  
The dirty feeling inside me was finally gone, but something unknown was still lingering
 inside, making me queasy.  I wasn't sure what it was but as I put on the fresh-
smelling, new clothes, I had a feeling I was about to find out.

	Running downstairs, I see my relatives crying, their faces puffy with tears, at a 
plastic covered body on the floor; I understand their emotion- someone has died.  I feel 
like crying; the tears blur my vision as they come down.  As a child, I always tasted the
tears as they came to my lips.  I taste the tears now, salty and comforting to me.

	What am I crying about?  I don't know, but someone has died.  I always cry 
when someone dies.  Then some memories come flashing to me, I vaguely remember 
these things happening.  I see the blood, my rage, the gun that I held, and most of all 
the pain.  What does this all mean?  Did I kill that someone?  All I know is I have this 
sick feeling inside, my heart beating fast- I feel  guilty. Maybe I did kill that body 
covered in plastic, after all, I sort of remember the incident.  Suddenly, I need some
 comfort, I feel dizzy, and so I scream out that I killed her.  

	No one hears me, at least they don't seem like they do.  They are too busy 
grieving, each one of them looking all the same with their dark hair sticking to their wet 
faces covering up the light that used to be in their eyes.  I feel alone, why is no one 
listening to me?

  	I go up to the body.  I am sorry if I killed you, I think to the body. I feel 
weird inside as if I knew that person who I killed, I feel as though I have killed out of 
love. Did I really show this person love by killing it?   Did I really love this person? I 
must have, because I want to comfort the body; wanting to tell the body I understood
 the pain and suffering it went through by dying.  The body I loved and understood- 
that body I killed.  I feel as though I've unnecessarily wasted a life, I can't get over the 
fact that I showed the person love, by killing it.

	I need some love and comfort, so I turn away from the body to my mother. I 
rest a hand on her shoulder while kissing her to comfort her.  She does not give me a 
hug that I need so badly.  Does she not feel me? I feel mad at her, if she loved me then
she would hug me.  She must hate me for killing that person lying over there.  I feel 
more alone than before.

	Then my boyfriend comes in, brushing aside his dark hair to reveal his green 
eyes that were dark with grief.  Why is he here?  I was disbelieving that he would even 
care, because after all he probably didn't know the person who was killed.  But then I 
realize that he knew and loved that body also, for there are tears, that a person would 
have if someone who they knew died, in his eyes.  I ask him if he knows who's dead, 
but he doesn't respond. I give him a kiss, and he still doesn't show affection for me.  
I'm mad at him, at my mother, at the world; why aren't they all listening?

	I feel like the Fates are all playing a satirical game with me; this game really 
isn't funny. So I decide to keep quiet and listen in to my mother's and boyfriend's 
conversation.  My boyfriend is telling my mother he doesn't believe it.  Not believing 
what?  Not believing the world is manipulating, and those you trust turn their backs on 
you.  Not believing you can never see the ones you love anymore because they die. 
Then I realize my dad is not here, maybe I killed him! Oh no! But to my relief, I hear 
my mother telling my boyfriend that my father was coming home from work. Then my 
boyfriend crosses the room to the bag on the floor. Tears blur my vision as I see my 
boyfriend uncover that body I know so well.  That familiar face having a bullet lodged 
in the head with sticky red fluid spreading about, the arms so lifeless and limp, and the 
hair so clumpy and knotty; I just want to scream.  Then my boyfriend lightly kisses her 
cheek and cries tears of sadness.

	All at once the memories come flooding back; I feel regret for what I did.   Why 
did I kill her?   She could have solved her problems instead of me ending her life. Her 
problems with the pressure from her school, her parents, and her friends; to be how 
they all wanted her to be. Each group wanting her to be perfect just for them.  She 
 could have had a happy life after solving these problems surrounded by those who 
loved her.  After all, the purpose of the human race is to feel the joys and sadness of 
life- to cope.  She should have coped and felt the love of people helping her out. Instead 
she was dead and it was my fault.

	 As this finally sank in bitter, agonizing tears come down.  Because now I know
why everyone was acting so weirdly towards me, I know what my boyfriend could not 
believe because I sure couldn't either- that I'm dead.

copyright Anita