I didn’t kill him, that much I can remember. I may not recollect anything else, but I know that I was not the person that pulled the trigger.
How did my prints get on the gun? Search me. If you watch any of the crime fighting shows available, then you should know that the real culprit could have done something to get my prints on the weapon.
My hands are still shaking. Not from remorse or pity, no. I feel this burning rage, rage that seems as if it will overwhelm me. I wanted to be the one to end his miserable life. Death by a gun is to quick for the heartless pig.
The fool thought he could get away with toying with my feelings. I bet he thought he was the first to die for it. I hope you rot in hell.
What could he have possibly done to evoke such emotions? He existed, that’s all. I’m sure you were thinking this would be one of those domestic abuse stories. No, this is not one of them.
I detested his very existence. He talks, I seethe. He breathes, I boil. Even his stupid smile is enough for me to wish his death.
You see, he thought he was God’s gift to women. Dreamy eyes, sweet smile, hung like a horse, and with a dimple to boot. Girls would flock around him, willingly giving up the goods for a smile.
But he never once looked at me. Never. Such a worthless bastard! All my beauty and brain, for naught.
When he finally noticed my existence, he was hooked. Boy, was he smitten! I felt good then, and reminiscing about that period, I feel good. I made him work for my attention, and he did.
Then he made the fatal mistake of looking at another. Why? Why? It was a trap I set for him, to test his love….and he failed.
“I love her! She gets me!” No, she doesn’t. I paid her to fool you, to see if you’ll keep to your vows. But what did you do? You went and fell in love.
Well, the bitch too has joined her ancestors. Good riddance.
Now, to the problem at hand. Who killed him?
***To Be Continued****