Try as I might, I could not move.
I saw the knife, blood on my clothes. A pair of pale blue eyes had stared accusingly at me. I tried telling myself it was him or me. I wanted to turn the clock back. Talk to him.
Grabbing his jacket I had torn it. The photograph of him and his young family tormented me. It had been next to his heart, as my knife pierced it. Defending freedom should not come at such a cost… Then I recalled the bark of a gun. I fell beside him..
I wrote this around ten days back, a wiser man than I said “write what you feel”…