My legs are getting sore. But that is the least of my worries. I cannot see anything. It is just dark, blackness enveloping me. Yet I hear everything. Though slightly muffled, I hear the cries, not of sorrow or anguish but ones of anger, hatred and vengeance. Vengeance for blood to be spilled. My blood. Clenching and unclenching my fists, I feel the palms of my hands starting to sweat.
My breathing increases, becoming more shaky. A drip of sweat rolls down the back of my neck before getting absorbed by the black material encasing my head. Preventing the world from me and from me to see. Every shift of my head the coarse material scrapes my nose and my breath has made a wet patch in the woven fabric. I breathe in and out. In. Out. Calming my mind and clearing my thoughts so I was thinking of nothing. Just like He taught me.
I remember it all now. The memories of that night with Him. Only that night was different from the rest. We had just finished chopping wood that night and had laid our axes down to have a drink but there was a heavy conflict hanging over him. A vicious battle behind his eyes every time I looked at him. I remember making a jibe that he was making a decision of life or death, but he never laughed, just looked at me with hollow eyes. I guess that was the first sign. Next thing I knew we had beer in our hands laughing and joking like many nights before. Only this time his hands were clenched tight around the bottle. His knuckles were so white and there was a strain in his fore-arm. That was the second sign. A nervous tick of the drumming of his fingers on his knee, he excused himself to the restroom so I leant back on the porch swing I relished the soft summer breeze soothing my face. Suddenly the night air chilled. The crickets were silent only the breeze whispering past me. Rising to my feet the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Only my harsh laboured breathing was to be heard. Closing my eyes I breathed in and out. In. Out. My heart rate slowed to a steady beat.
In an instant an arm was around my neck, pressing on my windpipe. My hands grasped the attacker, scrambling to loosen his grip so I could breathe.
His clammy hands tightened as I fumbled about for something to grab. Black spots were edging my vision and I felt my face turning purple.
Feeling the familiar wooden handle of my axe I swung it over my head landing with a sickening thud in the skull. I was free. Clasping my throat I gulped in air, like a fish out of water. My eyes searched for my attacker only to fall upon Him, lying lifeless in a pool of blood; which I created.
Falling to my knees, I felt the bile rise in my throat. Forcing its way up, the contents of my stomach emptied onto the porch landing. The adrenaline that was once pumping through my veins like a fire has disappeared.
The warm eyes are no longer, but replaced with the blankness of death. Looking to his hands, which a very few seconds ago were clasped around my throat now lay cold and limp. My face was wet. At this point I did not know whether it was blood or tears. I did not care. Why? How could he do that to me? My fist clenched as betrayal hit.
A gut-wrenching scream of pain, anger, denial, and betrayal tore its way from my throat.
Realisation kicked in. I killed him. My best friend. My brother. Numbness spread through my body, through every nerve. I welcomed it. I tried to move towards him. The body. But I was rooted to the ground. I wanted to slap him to wake him up. For his eyes to return to life and laugh to say it was all a joke. But he did not. It is too late for that. I am a murderer, a monster.
I do not know how much time had passed but that was how they found me. There I was, like a statue; cold, frozen, numb. That was how the sheriff found me the next morning. The blood dry and crusty on my hands.
Ba-boom goes my heart. Remember, breathe in and out. I rub my palms together still feeling the memory of the stickiness of his blood coating my hands, running down my wrist, looking like ink in the moonlight. It is a stain ingrained into my skin, into my mind. A reminder that haunts me of what I have done. In and out.
The guilt I bear chokes me and holds me in its firm claws and the wish to be freed from its grip is staggering. I wish for death. In and out. His glazed eyes and lifeless glare judging me every time I remember. I want to feel pure again, the innocence I used to carry like a shield that is now tainted by murder. In and out. It ripped the protection away from me and now I am free to see the evil within everyone. Something is passed over my head, and secured around my neck. Tight. In and out. I want to stop the pain and the shame. I feel like I am drowning. My hands curled into tight fists, so tight my nails are biting into my palms. In and out. The crowd is cheering already celebrating my end. In and out. This is it. I cannot get enough air into my lungs. I am choking. In and out. The world feels like it is whirling around me at an unknown pace and I realise I do not want to die, I cannot die. "I am innocent" is on the tip of my tongue ready to shout out, to explain and plead that it was self-defence but no one can hear my cries over the cheers. In and out. Without warning I am falling, falling into oblivion. I cannot think. In and o-
