I still regret that horrible day of my life.404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ27aMrUVn9
The sharp ting as the knife left its case. The metal, cold as an ice cube. The blade reflecting her face.404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM4tEY0mggs
Her O-shaped mouth. Her eyes was pure fear. Her fingers trembled as the blade rose upwards.
The horrifying sound. Every time I closed my eyes, her voice vibrated through my head. The shrill scream she made when the knife met flesh.
Blood on my hands. Even after I washed my hands a million times, the stickiness and the smell of blood always wafted up to my nose.
The lifeless corpse. Dropping to the floor with a thud. Her iris was colourless. Her lips were pale.
The rising spirit. Shimmering in the dark. The shape of a woman formed and floated up. Melting through the roof, never to be seen again.
The wail of the sirens. The clank of doors being opened. The orders of the officer. The footsteps nearing the entrance.
More footsteps. The stairs leading to a loft. The clank of the lock. The bang from downstairs.
The noise that filled the warehouse. The orders barking out. Flashlights shining. The beam of the light.
The crash of the window. Glass shards scratch the flesh. Hoisted up by a rough hand.
The clank of the handcuffs. The feet shuffling to the squad car. The shaking of the officer's head.
The striped jacket and pants. The orange jumpsuit. The clanking of the bars. Hands and face meet the metal. Protests from a cell.
The judge's court. Powdered wigs. A mother's plea. Banging of the gavel. The sentence of lifetime imprisonment.
Three meals a day. A bunkbed. The empty courtyard. Bare walls. Filthy conditions. Vists from family members. Friendless. Moping. Regret.404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyfhNOvuXVO
How I regretted the day I killed Maria Sanchez.
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