Could Have Been Anyone

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I sure do hope I’ll find the answer soon. See I am not used to doing things I don’t have a lot of practice in. They say practice makes perfect but there’s always someone better. But for some reason, good or bad, I am placing words on paper, ink on wood- creating an introduction into one of the most beguiling descriptions of death- well, murder. detectives and policemen are able to describe these events in a much more concrete manner, I can assure you. However, there is no better description of death than from one’s own recollection and hand.
When picturing the horrible sound of shoes gently dragging across the fresh beige tiles of a large Victorian house. You’d imagine they belong to a man unable to walk from birth, injury, or accident. However the walk is self-inflicted as if the immense weight of it all altered the natural form of a walk. Half asleep, or half alive? a small difference. Half alive but with a passion for hatred. As if the weight

of it all, all the sadness and guilt was not enough to register in the old coconut but his soul knew, the soul always knows.
Ah, what guilt can do to a human being? Imagine how freeing it would feel in death. But death did not come for this man, or at least not in this description. Alas, the man of the hour dangling above the ground like red and purple rock in the wind was me.
What a poor old boy! A young old boy, a boy of just 21 years. Oh, the sadness. But enough about me, I’ll get my moment in the spotlight when I’m hung from a nine-inch pole dangling in front of 361 onlookers. I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of performing in front of such a crowd, how sad that people forget just how common death is and come to observe when it beckons all but them. Although I have never endeavored in the practice of circus tricks I must agree watching a body sway in the wind by the neck is a trick that can only be performed once in a lifetime.
My purpose, if not for this description, would