“Society wants to believe it can identify evil people or bad people or harmful people, but it’s not practical. There are no stereotypes” -                   

                                                                          Theodore Robert Bundy.

The lingering warmth of blood stayed on my hand even when I had washed it off the I had scrubbed the hands so roughly that the warmth of blood I was feeling may as well be mine own.

The shirt was cotton it shouldn't feel as it did, clawing my skin. I had not changed my white shirt.... couldn't it was still marred by the dried crimson blood. His blood

I want to rest.

Rest this battered body that was screaming in pain to stop but I couldn't close my eyes because if I did, I would only see how his red crimson blood flowed out of his body as the knife pierced his skin and sprayed on my clothes.

The cold of the metal knife that I had used to take a life tingled through my fingers. The ghost of it still there. Present

The dim, yellowed streetlight shone above me as I walked on the footpath aimlessly. Hands limp at my side, footsteps uneven as I tried to reach a safe place.

 If there was any place safe for me.