The Process of being Murdered

Anna is dying. And I am watching

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Tucked behind the dumpsters next to this cafe keeps me well hidden and from here no one can see me whilst I listen to the screams of the unfortunate bride a couple of streets away. She sounds like she's in pain. Good. Looking down I grimace at my hands which are covered in a now brown crusting blood. Don't get me wrong murdering her was exhilarating but blood isn't want you need on your hands. I scrape my hands against the brick wall in an attempt to remove any trace of her from me. It doesn't work but seeing as its late and I don't see any one finding her cold dead body for a couple of hours I have time to wipe the slate. 

 

I crawl out from behind the dumpsters stretching my back allowing my shoulders to crack as my body recovers from being crouched for the last 40 minutes. No mercy for murderers I guess. I straighten my jacket, smooth my hair and make a move towards home. The night is cold so I zip up my jacket and stuff my hands in my pockets; my head held high because why the hell would I want people to think I look suspicious when actually this is turning out to be a pretty good day. 

 

She's going to die. That satanic woman is going to writhe in pain until her heart stops beating and she will die. People will cry and others will see it as tragic. The bride who died on her wedding night. Beautifully tragic. I laugh to myself as I realise just how evil they probably think I am. They don't see it. She deserved it. What she did doesn't deserve to go unpunished so fuck the critics. 

 

Heading to the bus stop the screams subside and I grin. I'm quite close so I should hear them. That is if she was alive. Meaning... 

 

I laugh to myself and increase my pace. Get home and sleep that's what I need. Deal with this while murder thing in the morning. 

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