I Started Writing To A Convicted Murderer Out Of Boredom, Now I REALLY Wish I Just Stayed Bored
By Vanessa Doe
He looked at me, smiling as he walked closer. We were nose to nose, he was about to say something. I brought the rock up, and slammed it down on his head. He staggered forward, his eyes bulging. He lunged for me; I stuck the stick into his stomach, deeper and deeper, blood spilling out. Rob fell back; I needed to finish him off, despite how weak I felt. Straddling his body, I pushed the stick further into his stomach, blood coming out of his mouth. He had stopped screaming; instead he was smiling now, blood coating his gums and teeth. His arms reached out to my neck, digging deep, closing my throat. I gasped for air, trying to fight it.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the rock beside his head, my fingers reached for it, my vision blurring. My fingers wrapped around the rock and I brought it up over my head down onto his. The sound of bone crunching would haunt me forever, but I had to keep going. I stared at his bloodied figure, waiting for him to come alive somehow, but there was no movement. My own arms and face were covered in his blood. I rolled off of him, lying beside him in a pool of blood. I turned my head to look at him, his eyes open, dead and cold.
A tear rolled down my cheek, I couldn’t believe I made it out alive. Noticing a small bulge in his pant pocket, I reached in, pulling out a throwaway phone that looked like it was from seven years ago. Dialing 9-1-1, I let the phone ring out as I closed my eyes and entered a blissful darkness.