Good? Bad? Don't care at all? Let me know 
I'm only 13 so it might be rubbish but hey
I stared down at my hands, at the blood. It's coppery scent fills the air around me, but it barely registers; my mind is buzzing, yet strangely numb. Despite what happened, I feel relatively detached from the whole situation before me. The once crimson blood now dark - as if tainted by my very touch as it dries into my fingernails. I sigh, the rush of adrenalin fuelled emotion finally releasing me from it's death-grip.
A faraway part of my mind seems to be analysing my surroundings, as if searching for something that got me here - something, anything that could have triggered this.*
I try now to search back, deep into my memories, for any hint that I could do that...
I am a monster.*
I see that now, and there's no point denying it. I've got no reason to lie to myself.
Some part of my brain cannot comprehend how any of this is possible - how this can't all just be a dream. Some horrible fantasy brought on by my over-taxing lifestyle; Some horrific nightmare. Nothing more than that.
It's times like this that I wish I was a better lier.*
Reaching down I stretch out my hand; trembling, my skin is almost as pale as hers. Almost. I cringe as my fingertips caress her skin. Ice cold. No. No no no no. This cant be happening.
No vanishing in a puff of smoke; no jerking awake, clutching my chest as my heart pounded with dream induced horror.
Just a vacant stare and ice cold hands.*
Shivering, I rise to my feet.*
I can't just stay here - at the "crime scene". I feel a surge of ironic laughter burst from my lips. All those nights spent curled up on my worn out couch, watching as many detective series as my TiVo box will allow. By now I should be a pro.*
I look back, absently surveying what I've left in my wake - I know instantly that it would be laughably easy for the cops to trace this back to me. Hell, it's in my apartment for gods sake - the second I walk out that door, I know I'll get arrested; they would have to be blind, deaf, stupid and exceptionally oblivious to not notice someone walking down the street covered in blood.*
*Does it matter - I mean, I don't think I...
I don't know what I want. I never would have guessed this is were I would be five years ago. Or five hours ago. It all went so fast. It was all so easy. Pitifully easy.
At least now it is over. My mind is clearer than it has been in what feels like years - it's almost a relief. A break from the state. I'd found myself stuck in.
Desperate for release. For a scapegoat. I feel almost free, euphoric - while at the same time I've never been so disgusted with myself.*
I'm only 13 so it might be rubbish but hey I stared down at my hands, at the blood. It's coppery scent fills the air around me, but it barely registers; my mind is buzzing, yet strangely numb. Despite what happened, I feel relatively detached from the whole situation before me. The once crimson blood now dark - as if tainted by my very touch as it dries into my fingernails. I sigh, the rush of adrenalin fuelled emotion finally releasing me from it's death-grip.
A faraway part of my mind seems to be analysing my surroundings, as if searching for something that got me here - something, anything that could have triggered this.*
I try now to search back, deep into my memories, for any hint that I could do that...
I am a monster.*
I see that now, and there's no point denying it. I've got no reason to lie to myself.
Some part of my brain cannot comprehend how any of this is possible - how this can't all just be a dream. Some horrible fantasy brought on by my over-taxing lifestyle; Some horrific nightmare. Nothing more than that.
It's times like this that I wish I was a better lier.*
Reaching down I stretch out my hand; trembling, my skin is almost as pale as hers. Almost. I cringe as my fingertips caress her skin. Ice cold. No. No no no no. This cant be happening.
No vanishing in a puff of smoke; no jerking awake, clutching my chest as my heart pounded with dream induced horror.
Just a vacant stare and ice cold hands.*
Shivering, I rise to my feet.*
I can't just stay here - at the "crime scene". I feel a surge of ironic laughter burst from my lips. All those nights spent curled up on my worn out couch, watching as many detective series as my TiVo box will allow. By now I should be a pro.*
I look back, absently surveying what I've left in my wake - I know instantly that it would be laughably easy for the cops to trace this back to me. Hell, it's in my apartment for gods sake - the second I walk out that door, I know I'll get arrested; they would have to be blind, deaf, stupid and exceptionally oblivious to not notice someone walking down the street covered in blood.*
*Does it matter - I mean, I don't think I...
I don't know what I want. I never would have guessed this is were I would be five years ago. Or five hours ago. It all went so fast. It was all so easy. Pitifully easy.
At least now it is over. My mind is clearer than it has been in what feels like years - it's almost a relief. A break from the state. I'd found myself stuck in.
Desperate for release. For a scapegoat. I feel almost free, euphoric - while at the same time I've never been so disgusted with myself.*