It is still screaming from after the two knives stuck in its chest. I cannot stand to listen to the screaming. I yank the knives out, and fall backward. I feel weak. My arms will not lift, and my legs will not either. The creature still screams, and as it continues to do so I feel weaker and weaker. I feel so ill; I want to leave the room but it’s like the screaming is keeping me here, making me listen to it. It is a punishment, like what the arms did to my thumb, and I deserve it.
I cannot even bring myself to speak, to say sorry to the creature. I try to and all that comes out are whimpers. The creature is whimpering as well, slowly, as it dies. I do not want it to die, I never did. I will not feel better when it does die.
My head slides to the side, pulling the rest of me towards the ground. I fall, resting for the moment, and still unable to move. My hand is in front of my face, and lying next to it is one of the knives, red and wet.