He looked at the girl, her eyes were glazed over like she was just about to cry. She might be crying now, were she still alive.

Now he knew what he was wondering all along. Long nights went by, sleepless nights, tossing and turning with questions in his head. Could he kill someone? If it came down to it, did he have the will to pull the trigger, turn the knife, or whatever it took to rob someone of existence? There’s only one way to find out, and he found out. Strangely, he didn’t feel remorse or sadness, he didn’t feel the guilt that he thought he would.

He didn’t feel anything. Standing over her body, in such an awkward pose, he didn’t feel a thing. Where was the rush? Where was the post homicidal regret? Why is there nothing? He was furious, and he began to take it out on the young victim on the floor. He shook her ferociously, demanding to know why there wasn’t something to dwell on.

He lets her fall, lifelessly slumped over. On the way out, he shuts off the lights and closes the door.