I walked over to him and stabbed him, his mouth filling with blood. I allowed him one kiss to the one he loved most. I checked another one off my list. Only one more kill until I could live easy. I checked my tablet for the information on my next victim. I stumbled back. My next victim was my best friend. The one who took me to prom instead of the girl he wanted to make me feel better. The one who helped me get over my depression. The one with whom I shared my first kiss. I couldn’t do it, but I had to. It was the only way. I started crying. I got in my car and cried hard. I couldn’t do it. It was too much. I drove home, changing my outfit from my all black jumpsuit to the dress I wore to prom. It was a sweet orange, his favorite color. I got in my car, the one he had given me for my birthday when I was 19, and drove to his house. I rang the doorbell, it still being the melody I recorded for him when I was 16 and had a dream of having a career in music. He answered the door, shocked. I sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I am so, so, sorry.”

He looked at me confused, but when I unsheathed my dagger he wasn’t so confused.

“Why?” He asked desperately.

“I can’t-“ I started, trying to bite back the tears. I told him what I had told all my victims, except with more sympathy and sincerity than ever.

“I’m so sorry. You get one kiss that can go to the one you love. I’m sorry.”

I sobbed. I couldn’t take it anymore. He said one phrase that would change my life.

“Okay,” he started, beginning to cry. “Then I choose you.”

He pulled me into a kiss, that was warmer and sweeter than anything in the universe. I didn’t pull back, I didn’t do anything. I just did the and kissed him. When he finally pulled away, I couldn’t do it. I threw the dagger towards the street. I kissed him, and he looked me inside. Me slept together, got married, had kids, then finally, we died our final moments together by using the dagger that had brought us together.