Eliza

I didn’t mean to kill her. Well, I did mean to kill someone, but not her. Her face was covered in black and blue bruises and in the middle of her chest there was a small hole, decorated with a ring of blood. The expression on her face was fear, nothing else, just a brilliantly painted face of that single emotion.
I started to cry, she was my only friend, my only family. She was the one who saved me from death, she took me in. This is how I relayed her, by shooting her in the chest. I grabbed her soaked top and cried into her, calling to her hoping she could just wake up. But you can’t wake up after death, he just won’t let it happen.
Somewhere in the distance of New York, I heard sirens echo towards me. I knew I couldn't stay here. I looked down at her, her mouth agape; eyes wide,unblinking. I looked around my surrounding looking for the person who called, nothing but me, her and rubbish cans were in the alley.
The sirens were growing louder and I needed to get away from the body. I leaned over her face and kissed her on the cheek before grabbing the gun, that was splayed out next to me, ran as far away from her as posable.
As I ran down back alleys and empty streets, the buzz of adrenaline started to kick in, and I realised a horrible truth,

I liked killing her.