:black_circle: Guilty Conscience :black_circle: (Yellow)

A short piece a wrote awhile ago that eventually influenced a character in the book I'm currently writing. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

:warning: Yellow for dark themes and slight violence. :warning:

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Guilt.

That’s all I could feel. I mean I shouldn’t be guilty, right? I didn’t want to kill her. I was just doing the right thing! She was planning to kill over 200 people. What if she was innocent? What if I had killed the wrong person and everything I’ve done was a huge mistake?! Being too busy consumed in my thoughts I didn’t notice I was being watched, not by a person, but by karma itself.

“You poor pitiful thing.” It was that type of voice you would hear in a cheesy horror movie, super quiet almost a whisper. I had spun around to where I was directly facing it, and I wished I never turned around. It or she, since it seemed female, was standing or I guess floating, since it looked like she didn’t have any feet, on the top step of a beautiful marble staircase. Her hair was a dark ebony black that flowed in the air like smoke, and her skin looked almost like cracked porcelain. She had a wicked smile plastered on her face and a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, look at what you’ve done.” All of a sudden she was next to me examining the scene of the crime. “Beautiful work! I can barely tell how you killed her, It’s almost like you’ve done it before.” She gestured toward the corpse on the floor.

“But I’m not a murderer! I was just doing the right thing!” The words came out of my mouth without even thinking.

“But are you sure it was…” She made quotation marks with her hands. “The right thing?”. She did make a point, what if I was wrong. “Imagine her family's faces when she never comes home, the sadness, the depression, the misery.”  I knew by the look on her face that she was enjoying this, and I desperately wanted her to go away. Because I knew if she kept pushing the right buttons, I would break. “This poor woman, she probably had children to go home to and you took away their mommy.”

I felt horrible, what had I truly done? This woman was probably a kind person with little kids or cute fuzzy animals she was taking care of, and now thanks to me she would never get home. “I didn’t mean to...I thought I was saving people..” A wave of pure depression washed over me. “I wish I was the one dead instead.” Before I had realized what had even came out of my mouth, it was too late. Her nails turned into long sharp blades, and her smirk widened into a huge grin revealing sharp fangs. Within seconds she took her nails and stabbed them into me ripping through my insides. The room slowly started to dim and the last thing I saw was her looking down on me while I was bleeding out onto the cold marble floor. Her grin turned into a soft smile and everything went black. I was dead.

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This story can also be found on my Wattpad!

#curatorreview