The person I killed last night wasn’t a bad person. Getting rid of his body was exceptionally easy, burning it to the ground where the ashes would remain, I had thrown them in the river that was flowing beside me. The woods were the perfect place to kill someone. Isolated, ignored, the life inside would decay in time. The body, however, would have taken time, so I had to burn it. I had to. There was no other way. Digging would have taken too much time and energy. Burning was easy. Yeah, burning was the best option.
It’s not like how I’d imagined. The idea of being haunted by the person you’ve killed or the mental impact that is supposedly going to burden you for the rest of your life. That hasn’t happened to me. Not yet, at least. I woke up from a great sleep this morning, no headache, no trauma. I ran through my usual routine of getting ready and leaving for work. I locked up the small apartment and headed for my car.
Living in an apartment complex was easy, no mortgage, lawns, gardening. It was nice and compact, just the way I’d liked it. The monthly rent was fine. My apartment was like the rest: it had a small kitchen with some room for dining space on the side, behind the kitchen would be a living room where I had set up my 27” television against the wall and a desktop in the corner. If you enter the apartment, you would be in a small hallway. On your left would be the living room, and in front of that would be the kitchen, having a wall separate the two. However, on the right was just a shoe closet. In front of me would be the room in which I slept in, it was quite smaller than the room beside it. The room beside was much bigger and had lots of space. That room was what I called my office. It was a nice place to work in. Then I had my standard washroom and there you have it. The sum of my apartment.
So I went to my car and drove to Clair Public School, where I worked.