The first time it happened was by accident. He tried to take advantage of my grief by hitting on me while consoling me. The disbelief I felt smoothly and quickly shifted into something I couldn't define at the time. Subsequent actions were decided upon swiftly and with zero questioning from my conscious. Another part of me inhaled its first breath as a former part of me took its last. And on the exhale, I slit his throat; his blood bathing me in a baptism of sorts as I found the ultimate release.
It's not about saving myself.
It's not about rectifying the past.
This is a cleansing.
How many different ways have I killed a man?
101
