Confessions of a murderer: A short story told through letters
I smell the charred smell of flesh. The same one that flooded my nose, seared into my brain even now. The wheezing of her last breath being drawn. It sounded so hollow, like nails against a chalkboard And the fear in her voice. I can still hear those agonizing sounds of death, God that pain grasps at my heart and I feel like I may vomit.
I tell you all of this, because I beg you with every fiber of my being to believe me,
-Your best friend