Remorse

He sits there motionless and silent. He

just rests in his chair, recollecting upon what

he had done. Everything had gone according to

plan. Just as they had said.

They told him of

how she would be alone in her house that previous

evening. They told him in what room she would be

in, and exactly how he was to do it.

So, at midnight he went to her house and cut

a hole in the living room window, and carefully

climbed in. He crept slowly and cautiously down

the hall, taking in all of the pictures. They

were mostly of a little girl and an older woman.

Was the little girl who he sought at that moment?

Then he saw it. The light at the end of the

hall. The room in which she layed. He froze.

Now was the time. He didn’t want to do it, but

if he didn’t they would have avengance. They

would punish him.

Slowly, he proceeded to the door. It was

partly open. He peeked in through the crack.

There she was, sound asleep. She had left the

light on.

As he stood there, staring at her stationary

form, his hand began to tremble, and he began to

sweat. But he opened the door more, none the

less. Silently he crept into the room. He then

proceeded to approach the bed, on which she layed.

Then, out of fear and regret, he attacked.

He whipped out with gloved hands, and stabbed her

in the chest. He then slit her throat before she

rose out of her slumber. As he did, he

remembered the look of intense, blinding pain.

She barely had time to gasp, and struggle to hold

onto her life before all went quiet and still.

He stood there motionless. Thoughts of what

he had just done buzzed in his head. Once he

regained his senses, he walked to her bedside

table, turned out the light, and left out the

front door.

Now he rises from his chair, and walks to

his dresser. And as the scene fades, there is a

gunshot followed by a thud, then complete silence.