“It was an accident!” I said out loud, trying to convince myself.

The room was silent, other than the sound of the air vents’ low hum. No one was around. I was fairly sure of it.

“Peter lunged at me,” I began replaying the scenario in soliloquy. “I was standing here, in the kitchen cutting an apple, and he just lunged right at me!”

“I don’t know why he would do it,” I stated in confusion, as if I had been asked some phantom questions. “We always got along great!”

I realized the knife was still in my hands, glued there by the blood. The blood felt so sticky and gross, and I could smell the iron in the air. I threw the knife down and wiped my hands on a nearby cloth.

What to do about the body though? What to do about the blood? I had no answers. I began pacing back and forth when suddenly I saw a silhouette through the window.

Scared, I turned slowly and saw a man outside, standing in the dark. He wore a top hat and a suit, like he was going to a Victorian era theatre. It was so preposterous seeing him out there I had to rub my eyes and slap myself to make sure he was really there.

He just stared, out from the dark and into the light of my little window. I didn’t know how much he saw, I didn’t know where he came from. And worse yet he just continued to stare.

He was staring right through my eyes and into my mind. I couldn’t look away. He itched his nose and wiggled his moustache, but otherwise he just stood still.

I kept staring at him, trying to will him to go away. As he stared I could feel the anger build inside me. Anger at him for possibly witnessing what I had done. Anger at him for having the power to ruin me. Anger at him for just staring and nothing more.

I picked up the knife and began to pry at the window frame. The damn thing didn’t open so I had to force it. I kept my eyes locked with him the entire time. Maybe if he saw what I was doing, he would run, he would leave and I could clean this place up. Remove the body, wash the blood.

The window wasn’t budging, so I had to break it. I grabbed the knife-block and began let my frustration flow. The window was firm and didn’t break on even the third or fourth hit.

Finally, on the fifth hit I heard the crash. Instantly I felt the rush as the cold vacuum of space sucked me out through the jagged glass. My blood froze. My eyes froze.

As my lungs turned to ice and consciousness quickly faded, the man turned and walked away. Spinning his cane as he went.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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