As I looked around the darkened room, blood splattered on the walls, a cold, lifeless, pale-skinned female corpse lay face down. Her hair was splayed out in all directions. It reminded me of a dying star, dark rays escaping in all directions. I kneeled beside her body and softly ran my hands over her soft, smooth skin. I couldn’t believe it.

How did this happen?
What was I thinking?
Why did I do this?

I stood up and ran my hand backwards through my hair, then down to my shoulder. I couldn’t bear to look at her. Quickly, I looked away; then, slowly I looked back, down towards her body and next to the pistol in my hand. The semi-rough texture of the grip pressed into the palm of my right hand. As I reflected on the events from just a few moments before, I ran my left hand, finger by finger, over the smooth, cold, metallic barrel of the pistol.

WHAT THE HELL!

Without a second thought, I screamed out at the top of my voice an amalgam of obscenities, turning to the body I emptied the rest of the clip into her back, splattering crimson rain in all directions. Some blood slowly drifted down my face and over my upper lip to the opening of my mouth. With an awkward expression of puzzlement I slowly licked the blood from my lip.

Can this be right?
Why am I doing this?
Did she really deserve this?

I sat on the concrete floor next to her, now lead-filled, corpse. As I looked at her body I noticed the letter in her pocket. Without hesitation, I grabbed the letter, and as I wiped the blood from my face with her hair, began to open it. I already knew what it was; there was really no need to read it at all, but I did anyways. I went through the horrid letter, line by love filled line, reading every cliché attempt at romanticism and every stolen rhyme.

What a fool.
He didn’t even love her.
I loved her.

As I returned the letter to her pocket, I rolled her body over, so I could look into her beautiful, hazel eyes one last time. I could feel the tears building in my stomach as I ran my fingers across her face and over her lips. Longingly, desperately, I moved my face near hers and softly brushed against her cheek with mine. She felt so cold, so dead, so lonely, and the feeling drove me to tears. I felt so ashamed, so violent, and so uncontrollable. I ran my index finger around the top of her forehead, down her right cheek, and then to her lips. Quickly, I removed my finger and lowered my lips to her giving her one last kiss. I slowly stood, pistol in hand.

I was justified.

As I looked at her one last time, I replaced the emptied clip with a new one, placed the pistol to my head, and as I took one last, deep breath; I briskly pulled the trigger.