I looked down at the pictures of the corpse for a long time. My handiwork. White-blue cr\u00eape for skin with torn edges dark as if dipped in blackberry jam; limbs stilled, breath returned to whence it came from.<\/p>\n
\"He was my introduction to regret,\" I said softly, my voice undoubtedly picked up by the myriad recording devices. \"He was life itself. Always laughing; smiles spanning the times between like bridges connecting islands of mirth. His eyes were the colour of moss and his mouth tasted of promises.\" I stroked the dented metal table top in front of me, fingertips remembering for a moment the warmth of his soft skin, his lithe body entwined with mine.<\/p>\n
Looking up, I realized that the man had no patience for my prose, and I sighed, looking back down. His eyes were closed in the picture; had I done that? Or, had some technician or lab rat given him that tiny gift of grace? I shifted uncomfortably on the hard chair; the chain connecting my wrists making a soft metal-to-metal kiss against the tabletop.<\/p>\n
\"All right. Ok, that\u2019s a start,\" said the sweaty, porcine man across from me. I looked back into his face, brows beetled over dull eyes, tiny broken veins visible on the strangely elegant nose. \"Yeah, yeah\u2026 that\u2019s a good start. You regret killing him. And then what?\"<\/p>\n
My sudden laugh startled him, and I saw his fingers twitch with muscle memory, hand lonely for its gun. I chuckled, shaking my head, my smile wide and amused.<\/p>\n
\"No, no, my dear detective. You misunderstood: I regret not killing him sooner.\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I looked down at the pictures of the corpse for a long time. My handiwork. White-blue cr\u00eape for skin with torn edges dark as if dipped in blackberry jam; limbs stilled, breath returned to whence it came from. “He was my introduction to regret,” I said softly, my voice undoubtedly picked up by the myriad recording devices. “He was life itself. Always laughing; smiles spanning the times between like bridges connecting islands of mirth. His eyes were the colour of moss and his mouth tasted of promises.” I stroked the dented metal table top in front of me, fingertips remembering … <\/p>\n