Did I Kill Him? | A Hermitcraft Murder Mystery ~ ON HIATUS

Chapter 3

~Chapter Warnings~

-Death

-Slight gore

-Description of a dead body

-Thoughts of someone else committing suicide

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Zedaph POV

No no no. He's not dead. He can't be. 

I rush to the garden, taking the steps two at a time. I ignore the strange looks I'm getting as I run out the door. 

Impulse, please, please don't be dead. I silently pray to myself, even though I know it won't do anything.

Impulse is laying under the window, right where I saw him before, and there is no doubt that he is dead.

His body is covered in cuts from the glass. Dried blood is all around him, with more still pooling out.

His expression looks peaceful. The stress that was constantly lining his features is gone. He could almost be sleeping. 

I feel numb. It feels like I'm watching myself from third-person as I walk over and kneel by him. Somebody puts a hand on my shoulder as everyone else starts coming outside.

Mechanically, I stand up. Tango runs past me, screaming and crying as Doc tries to hold him back. It's like I'm watching the world through a foggy window. Everything around me seems far away. Mumbo says something to me but I just push past him.

I trip and let myself fall. I wrap my arms around my knees and curl up on the dirt, refusing anyone's attempts to help me up. I don't cry. I don't feel anything. Some part deep in my brain knows the emotions will be excruciatingly painful later. But now, I let myself sink into the cold fog enveloping my mind.

Eventually, everyone else goes back inside. My throat is dry and scratchy. I look up and see Tango sitting next to me. His eyes are red and puffy. He reaches out and rests one of his small hands on mine.

"I told them we would dig the grave", he croaks, his voice hoarse from crying.

I nod and slowly push myself up.

I grab a shovel leaning against the wall as Tango looks for another one, before joining me.

The crunch of the shovel against dirt is the only thing breaking the heavy silence between us. 

My gaze brushes over Impulse's body, just a quick glance, and I immediately feel a tidal wave of guilt, sadness, and all the emotions I had been holding in as my brain tries to process his death.  

No more of his warm hugs.

No more of his flirty teasing.

He's gone forever.

I can't think about it without completely breaking down. Instead, I try and focus on how it happened. 

Think logically. What happened?

 Was he murdered? Impulse isn't-- wasn't suicidal... Right?

So someone killed him. But that means the rest of us might be in danger.

There is nothing we can do. There's no escape from this house. Nobody brought a phone and even if they did, there's no wifi here. We're miles and miles away from any other people. 

But then, if someone killed him, why not just use a knife? And why would they kill him? This is real life, not some cheesy murder mystery. 

What if I caused Impulse to commit suicide with the things I said during the fight?  Does that mean... Did I kill him?

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These 613 words of angst took three days and several emotional roller coasters to write. I would have finished it earlier but I had to redo it a few times, convince myself not to start a new oneshot, and then nitpick every tiny detail about it. Hopefully, the next chapter won't be as difficult. Stay safe and black lives matter. <3