...There is no sinner like a young saint."
-Aphra Behn
I woke up, drenched in sweat. I am hardly breathing. I could hear the blood drumming across my ears, how loud, and pale I was if only I could see my own reflection. My lips quiver.
Amanda. A-Amanda is dead!
Imagine how terrified I was, then the next second, grief filled each fiber of my being. My insides churned, and I bawled my eyes out. I cried, and cried, and cried until tears gushes, my eyes became swollen red, and my voice was no longer soft, but was terribly hoarse.
It feels like I could still vividly envision her dismembered head.
N-no! Please stop!
Thoughts about seeing Amanda on that position made me wanted to curled up, and runaway, never to be seen again. I wanted to run away, and when I came back, I will see that lit
