Dead Man Walking
I sit here in a haunted mental institution, but only because people think I’m eccentric and need the help. After all, how could someone as ‘‘peculiar’’ as me know how to commit the perfect crime and never feel guilty about what she did even after she committed it? The police arrived at the perfect moment to that empty and dead-smelling house. Let me explain what happened on my perfect, unplanned, avant-garde, unconventional, sick, sick night of killing.
During 1990, I had a job as of staying with a dead man walking, an elderly gentleman in very ill health. The man kept getting up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying that somebody was in his room, standing over him. All he could hear was the breathing, all he could smell was a sweat-filled odor that fulfilled that empty but sanitary room.
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