I stare ahead at the road, no cars, no people in sight except me and the body lying a few metres ahead, surrounding the victim is a pool of dark red blood, filling any possible crack in the uneven ground. I take a step closer, now able to see the victims head, a young girl around 4 years of age, a bullet wound dead centre in the middle of her head. I wonder who would do this to a poor child, too young to understand what is happening around them, a wave of guilt spreads over my body. I did. I didn't mean to, but I did. I had picked up the handgun, aimed at the unknown victim and shot. I was a murderer. A horrible, horrible murderer.
Sirens fill the air with dread and I start to panic. What do I do? If I ran I would be found, if I stayed here I would be found. I had no choice. I picked up the gun and shot. Shot right in my own head. Dead.
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