I have blood on my hands.
The red sticky fluid drips from my fingers. It
saturates my skin.
My tears drip and mingle with the blood.
I start rubbing my hands. I can’t get it off. I
scratch and scour. I scrub and smear.
Nothing works.
Dred pumps in my veins. Panic floods my mind. Grief
freezes my heart.
What have I done?
My face is drenched with fallen tears. My hands
covered in another’s blood.
I frantically try to wipe my hands. I have to get this
thick liquid off!
What else can I do? How can I redeem myself? How can I
get my hands clean?
Numb realization invades. What’s done is done. The
past can’t be fixed. A life can’t be saved once lost.
My vision clears. I glance down at my hands. They are
clean.
