31

"It was self-defense. I didn't know what to do."
I still remember the excuse. Even after one month, I remember the excuse vividly.

Obviously, I had cleaned up the scene, made it look less suspicious. When the police arrived, they saw the body and observed the multiple gunshots in his chest. I forced myself to cry as I watched them pick up his body into an ambulance.

"I... I was scared," I told them. "I don't know if he'd been taking drugs. I don't know if it's the brain damage..." I continued, forming a sad look across my face.

"The-the gun..." I hesitated to continue, acting as if I was traumatized by the situation. "I don't know where it came from."

One cop offered me to sit down and I did, shivering as I told the infamous story.

"He dropped the gun. It was my chance to defend myself. I didn't want to die." I looked up at the three cops interrogating me in my own house. "I didn't know what to do."

From then on, a funeral was held for him and I was not found guilty since there was no proof of murder nor was there a witness. Also, they found the files that showed that he purchased the gun around the time I told them he went quite insane.

And so, after a few weeks, they believed me. I had fooled them once more. I had this tingling feeling of satisfaction. This feeling of satisfaction over manipulating my way through murder. This feeling of power - this power that can rule the world. Like everybody else, I wanted to rule the world.