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Please Forgive Me

She had blood on her hands. She glanced at herself in the mirror and for a moment she liked what she saw. She felt powerful. Her insides twisted. It wasn’t the red painted blood that made her sick. The long pointed butcher knife soaked with a red coating didn’t frighten her. It was the bright look in her eyes that did it. It started as a thought. A flash of an image in her mind.


At first it made her shudder, but after a while a curiousity developed. She wondered what she was capable of. It was a game she played with hersef. Mid-email, distracted by her wild imagination, she wondered what would happen if…


She wondered what it would feel like. It was her routine. She ate turkey and cheese sandwiches and stared at the block of shiny objects across the granite countertop. She wished she could shift her gaze to the book in front of her. She used to be able to. It used to not be so hard to see two separate worlds, real and imagined. The line was becoming unclear. She walked across the room and picked up the knife and pretended she was cutting an onion.


Slice by slice.


Her eyes watered. She was crying. Something was growing inside of her. Curiosity turned into desire. She had no other choices but this one.

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