I look at what I ve done, at the young adult before me. The knife I hold is covered in deep dark red blood, a crimson drop crashes down off the slick blade and glides to the floor. The sound is faint in reality, but to me, it screamed as it hit the concrete. And there he is, lying before me; wounded, shattered, broken, dying. His once beautiful eyes are now crying out, full of pain and anguish. Those pupils bore into mine and even when I close my eyes to escape that look, it is still there, staring through the darkness. I can feel his hatred for me. The boy splutters words but they are lost within the empty abyss that is this room. He is so beautiful, the contrast of crimson against porcelain, it's like a painting that only a few would understand.
I want to say I'm sorry; that I couldn't help this, that he drove me to do it but my body is still shaking with hatred for him. My heart aches for I've just destroyed the person who could've made me happy, made me realised the potential of this world. I am hurt. I look around, desperate to escape. Even if I got out of this god forsaken place the truth would haunt me, it would follow in my damned shadow, in my very reflection. The others stare at me; they are like dolls watching but never speaking, never judging, my only friends. I flick past the memories and the movies in my head and try to make sense of what has happen, I try to figure where I went wrong, what I did to end up here, with him lying like a broken toy. My pictures stop, the movie halts and I find why it occurred, an argument. He started this and now I've finished it. My cold outer shell is laughing, a bubbling sound rising, echoing, and haunting the souls of the room. The part of me that is still human, the slither of hope for my soul however, is crying and asking, what is next?
The only way for me to make sense of it all, is to look over the reasons for this massacre. And this is where my tale begins...