‘Why not just kill her?’ The boy was dressed in grey today. His eyes were covered by his thick black fringe, yet I knew he was looking straight at me as he threw the apple in the air.
‘Because I’m not a murderer,’ I pushed myself off the ground.
‘Can you please stop calling me the boy in the painting or the boy. I do have a name you know. It’s Michael, and you did know that,’ he smirked.
He was right. This was not a boy. He was a young adult. ‘Michael it is.’
‘It’s not really you killing her. If it was, then you would be classified as a murderer,’ he walked towards me.
‘Now I’m confused. What do you mean that it is not me killing her? I held the scalpel, I held the tube and it was me who collected the blood.’
He tilted his head to the side. ‘True, but-‘
‘No, it was I who sliced her wrist. It was me,’ I pointed at myself, ‘who heard her scream. No no, who made her scream. I killed her and I enjoyed it!’
‘Did you really enjoy it?’
What sort of question was that? I dropped back down. Grass covered the floor and bright green fresh trees surrounded the place. I pulled my knees to my chest. I was smiling when I sliced her veins.
‘Did I really slice her veins?’
‘Oh yes. And it seemed as if you were enjoying it! But again I state, was it really you?’
‘It is time for you to sleep. Close your eyes, Kelly,’ he whispered in my ear.
I felt his hand slide down my face. My eyes closed.