The Confession
By C.S.
It’s been fifteen years since I ever spoke of the events that happened on that horrible day. I don’t why I did it, but there was something terribly wrong with me that day. My head burned so bad I wouldn’t process even one thought, and all I wanted to do was stop myself. However, I couldn’t hold back the evil inside. Now matter how hard I tried to fight off the voices they just got louder and louder, like I was standing a foot away from a whistling rain. She cried for help, but no one heard. She screamed for her life, but I couldn’t release my grip. It wasn’t my fault; I didn’t even know her name. She was looking into my eyes, calling me a name that was unfamiliar, like she actually knew who I was. My grasp grew stronger and my anger grew deeper, but still I had no idea why I was there. She again yelled for me to stop, but I started to realize that it wasn’t ME who she was talking to. Sure, it was my hands around her neck and her blood on my shirt, but it wasn’t really me. I’ve never hurt a soul in my life, and there was no desire to do tings that I have caught myself doing. It was then that I realized that I was one of two identities, or two personalities. The only person I’ve ever known myself to be was the hard working businessman who loved his family dearly. That’s why I don’t understand why my wife is lying lifeless in-between my swollen fingertips. That’s why I am here today. This is my confession and liberation from guilt. Lock me up and throw away the key, so no harm can be done from me or whoever I am.