He died. His blood flowed warm and sticky down her hands, dripping onto her sleeves. She paused to drink in the full horror of the situation. She had killed another human being, had held him down and watched his life-force drain away. She had done this, she was responsible. She stared into open, glazed over eyes, eyes that would never close again. She didn’t even know his name. Had he a wife, a family? What were his dreams, his life ambitions? He had no more life, and the world would never know his accomplishments. She dropped the body as if it had suddenly become repulsive. She brushed at the blood on her sleeves, tried to erase the evidence of her crime, but it stayed. There was no going back now. She had killed, she had committed this, the ultimate offense. She closed her eyes, trying to block the image of his bulging eyes as she ripped the life from his body, but it was burned onto her retina. She stuck her fingers in her ears, fingers that were slippery with blood, but she could still hear his dying gasp. There was nothing to do now. Her soul would be damned for this, the worst crime of humanity. She could not hope for salvation now. She could only kill again, and again, until the faces became blurred in her memory and the voices faded together and into nothingness.