I cringed at the thoughts of being a murderer “Did I kill him?”

I looked around, but there was no one in sight. I looked at him, he lay in a pool of his own blood.

He had been stabbed by someone, someone I wished wasn’t me. But it was.

My hands were trembling. The knife I held fell to the floor with a thud.

“No, no, I couldn’t have, I’m a good kid” I said amid tears.

My thoughts ran wild, the whole world would hear this, the newspaper and bloggers wouldn’t fail to spread the news.

I was only 18.

I imagined how the headlines would look on the newspapers.

I heard the sirens, they were coming to take me, or kill me.

What if I told them he tried to kill me first? But would they listen?

There was no where to hide, i prayed the ground would open up and consume me, but it didn’t.

“How do you plead, miss Jessica?” the judge asked me over a court hearing.

“Guilty” I said in a whisper.

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