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.