Murderer

I killed her. Just like that. She forced me to do it, of course. By her actions, her tendencies, her personality. Inevitably it all led to her death at my hands.

I had to do it. Really, I had no choice, non at all.

But I didn't actually push the blade deep into her body, right through her expensive designer dress. No, and I didn't feel any pressure on my hand as the blade was pushed, severing silk and then flesh. But I felt it, inside.

She loved those designer dresses.

The blade cutting through such exquisite material on its way to severing major arteries would have hurt her even more than the pain of being stabbed. And of course it could only be silk. Thai silk. I know that because I know her too well. So well that she had to die.

Now what do I do?

My head in my hands and my mind empty of ideas. I hadn't planned to kill her. But it was her actions that led to her death. I could find no logical way around it. She had to die. She had brought herself to the point at which her death was inevitable.

Forced into a corner, I had to let it happen.

Staring at the flashing curser on the monitor, it's beating pulse the visual equivalent of cackling laughter from a mocking hyena. And now what? Where do I go from here?

Shit. Fifty thousand words in and I've killed off my main protagonist.