I huddled in the dark alley, crying. I was a monster. I had killed a girl, an innocent young girl who had her whole life stretching in font of her, just because she had something I didn't.
And so I became the thing that I feared most.
People were scared of me. Mothers glanced at me out of the corners of their frightened eyes, hurrying their children on. I was given dirty looks, dirty words. People are such hypocrites.
But who am I to decide who should live and who should die? I was given a life, with rules to follow, and I broke them. And so I must be punished.
The first night was the worst. I screamed and shouted, would have stabbed myself with the knife if I hadn't dropped it in a trash can, somewhere far from the subway station. I had taken away someone's life, so why should I live?
The only thing that kept me from turning myself in was the thought of the asylum. They'd lock me up forever, call me a social hazard. I couldn't do that. Not again.
And so I hid. Far, far away, where no one would ever find me. One day, maybe, if I could get up the courage, I would go back. I would find Jerry and Nick and Julianna, and apologize. But I already knew. It was too late.