I Think It's Wrong, Gene.

I awoke today at an unusual time, and the first words out of my mouth were obscenities. Gene gave me a funny look and ran her fingers through her hair. I remember what it was that made me remember this, and I believe it was the way the light shone upon each fabric of hair, like a million stars staring me down, and the various shades of splendour which could fascinate me for days. Gene was, only seventeen, and with a soft wan face, and jet-black eyes; She reminded me an awful lot of a yarn doll. I paced around the room and sat on the floor, my hands clasped together, and I mumbled something just above a whisper. I don't remember many of the words that were spoken, except for the bright light upon Gene's hair, and the thick black dust on my beige coat which would leave a cloud of dust as I moved. Gene and I just sat there, contemplating the situation, and saying everything without saying a word. I'm sure that we had the same thoughts: uncontrollable streams of unexplainable ideas and recollections, kept in thought only because words could do them no justice. I'm also sure that the man I had just killed thought the same as well, just not at the moment for he happened to have a coin-sized hole in his skull. 'What do you think they'll say?' And as I said these words, my eyes slowly trailed to the dead man's hand where a simple gold band rested on his finger. Gene smiled, and told me that they'd probably shoot me, or worse, lock me up. 'I can't let that happen. I think it's wrong, Gene, absolutely fucking wrong.' I stood back up, and black dust floated about like baby's hair in spring. I wiped the blood from my glasses and walked to the kitchen for garbage bags. The window above the sink was open, and I could see everything below my twelfth-story apartment, and as I gazed out, a copper penny fell out of my breast pocket. 'Oh shit, not again!' I watched helplessly as the coin accelerated towards another oblivious victim. I could hear the awful sound from all the way up here, like flesh hitting pavement, or like a wet match breaking in half, another coin had claimed another victim.