"Please don't hate me," I whispered, my lips grazing against the cold stone floor. My body trembled with fear and dismay, hunkered over on my hands and knees before the golden cross on the wall.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," I went on, tears dripping with light plinkering sounds between my hands. "She was too young, I know that now- I knew it then, too, but then... I was blinded! I was a fool!"

I raised my eyes to the cross, a kind of bitter coldness rippling along my back. "I'm so sorry." I leaned all the way over, pressing my cheek into the ground, into my own puddle of tears.

But it's too late for that, now, I thought, hearing the sirens wail in the distance.

My fingers traced the cracks in the stone, my fingernails catching on the smallest of indentations.

Where will I go? Will I be executed for my crimes? Will God damn me for my sins?

Flashes of my malicious acts blared across my inner eye. I winced and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, sending the flashes away with smudges of heat and gray.

"Yes," I answered quietly, my voice shaking, and my stomach curled in on itself with terror. "Death awaits me, with hell crouching at its heels, eager to swallow me up."

My lips quivered and mucus and tears rolled down my chin so much that I could not voice my next thoughts.

It is what I deserve.

I flinched horribly and raised my head, twisting painfully to look over my shoulder as the church doors flew open with a bang.

Five police officers came in, their guns drawn. A spotlight behind them illuminated the room, but turned the officers into black silohouettes.

"Freeze!" They cried.

I sat onto my knees slowly. "Please," I begged pathetically. "I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"Get on the ground! Now!" They shouted, moving forward.

Snot slung from my nostrils and spattered on the floor as I laid back down, sobbing. I started to move my arms out to the side, as I've seen people do in movies, but before I could do so, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my back, and I craned my neck to see an officer jabbing his knee into me. Seconds later my hands were wrenched behind my back and cuffed with ice-cold shackles.

"Please," I tried again as they pulled me off the ground, but one of them punched me in the stomach and I could no longer speak.

As they drug me to the door, yelling static into their walkie-talkies, I looked back at the golden cross.

"Oh God, have mercy! I beg of you! I beg of you!" I cried out.

Then the doors of the church slammed shut, and I was outside of them.