Why do we live? Why do we die? Why do we feel the way we do? Pain, pleasure, the tinkling of our skin when we’re scared. We feel hatred and love, always wondering which is stronger; which will win inside of us. Are we human because we bleed? Or do we bleed because we are human? And are we still human once we’ve become numb, without emotions to guide us? For a man can kill in a fit of rage, but what we must truly fear are those who plan. Those who think of murder in a precise and delicate fashion. For they are actors upon the world’s stage, ever deceitful and villainous. Their trickery is a victory. Even if you’ve known them all your life, you’ve never really known them at all.
“I’m so sorry.”
And then I do it. I let her fall. I let her die.
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