I woke up in an unfamiliar place; I was starting to wonder where I am, however, the only person I have spotted to be with me was only Wema.

She didn't do anything, but to sit and watch me, as if she becoming a bit cautious of my movements, does she trusts me at all?

I tried to walk, but she stopped me in the middle of time, pushing me to the ground, that is when she grew cold.

"Don't move…"

I halted at the sound of her voice, that it sounded deadly cold; I could not even see the reason of why she is acting this way, maybe it is because I killed that man.

"Wema, what's wrong with you?"

She looks at me, dazed and upset. Then, she had the heart to control her rage and shook her head, getting off me and retreating to her pace, where she slept on the opposite side of the bed, farthest from me.

After that hostile confrontation—or so I thought it was like that, maybe this bond could have been broken.

Just as I suspected, she would not talk to me, nor did she even dared to try and clean the dirt that piled on my face since the air raids.

I should have known that this bond would break severely over a murder—however; it was to protect Wema from experiencing rape.

At some point, shouldn't she be at least grateful for my help?

However, as far as I can see, she is 'afraid'; possibly afraid of me or with the world around her.

I don't blame the child though; it is quite natural for someone to be frightened of such things than to be strangely optimistic about it.

For two weeks, she hardly made a sound; still, she brought and cooked food for us—but never spoke for the entire day during those weeks.

And it made me wonder if I am truly useless to her; that it seems like she never cares for me—not even a shred of emotion on her part.

However, there was only one thing to do—it was going to be a test; to see if she is going to care about my existence.

I looked at this knife in my hands; it was curved and sharp, as if it was never dull for the past four years.

Of course, I kept it and sharpened it in an orderly fashion.

My blue eyes became cloudy for a while now, just by staring at the knife, I started to feel the soul of 'fear' on myself.

'Fear' is the kind of emotion that would make a person (feel) startled and paralyzed; not being able to speak or move from the cause of it.

I hesitated on the knife, that it was merely an inch away from my wrist—that it's beginning to make me wonder if I am doing the right thing or not.

I heard something in my direction and I began to panic; my right hand trembled, and I was starting to lose aim and accuracy—feeling a sharp pain in my stomach.

I thought stabbing myself wouldn't have no effect on me at all—but I noticed I wasn't wearing my turquoise, sleeveless suit. Instead, I was wearing a thin, black t-shirt.

It was highly likely for the sharp, Middle-Eastern knife to penetrate its delicate fabric.

The figure ran towards me as I fell to the cold earth.

"What are you doing?" she cried, trying to remove the knife from my stomach—and there came its dark-colored liquid known as 'blood' oozing from the broken skin.

I struggled to see that young girl beside me and pretty much, I was smiling with my bloody mouth closed.

I am sorry, I thought, even though this thought is meant to be said to Wema, but I have decided to keep it to myself.

"You shouldn't have done that…!" she cried once more, holding me close to her chest; sobbing in fear.

That is when I knew; that she did care about my existence. My blue eyes were glassy by now; her face was beginning to look blurry in my view.

I smiled on my dying breath.