I had always been perfect. At least that’s what everyone always said. My parents always told me to act nice, and respect my elders, and I did. But I felt stuck. Stuck in this person’s skin that just wasn’t me. I had to get out, do something to feel like me.

But now… I was standing over his dead body… my father’s dead body… he had yelled at me for something so stupid, and I just snapped. I grabbed the knife and planted it in his chest. In panic, I dropped the bloody knife to the ground, my hands shaking. My eyes wide, I stared at the lifeless body.

I was supposed to be perfect. Why did I do this? I couldn’t turn back now. The deed was done, the sin was committed. I had chosen to astray from my perfect life and enter one of mistakes. A normal life.

I continued to live a life a murder. I felt free while doing so. People around me had no idea. My mother had left the country, my sister had left too, and all that was left was me.

All this continued for over 2 years, until I was finally caught killing a random kid that had crossed my path.

I was now in a cell, with nothing but a mediocre bed, a lamp, and a mirror. I sit in front of it sometimes, and every time I look at myself, I wonder how it all came to become like this.