There has been a tragic death in the house...And I'm the culprit..I did it. The weapon I so inadvertently used was my elbow. No one else can be blamed, as it was only the two of us there. As we lay, side by side, I rolled over...and committed the most heinous crime. I tried to raise my eyes to look at myself in the mirror, but couldn't; I just..couldn't bring myself to do it.
And now, as I drown in the guilt of the aftermath, I wait in the darkness for my crime to be discovered. Suddenly, eyes watch my every move and every shadow has an accusatary voice-like the cows in Great Expectations.
Even now, the corpse is hidden in my room, next to me, like The Purloined Letter. At night, I can feel the presence there..It screams, it blames, it cries out for justice...
Sleepless nights and five o'clock shadows are giving me away...Ever time I close my eyes, I see the oozing black blood on my hands.
I will be found out..I will be caught. The guilt and remorse I carry are hurting my shoulders; so much so that I find it difficult to walk upright. There is that voice, my conscience, I suppose, that begs me to confess.
I think I must. I must confess. If not for me, for my soul, then for my victim.
A proper burial is needed and I need to pay for my crime.
As I confess to my murderous deeds I, for the first time, can utter these words out loud:

'Rest in peace, Kindle.'