THEY said I’ve stabbed a woman. Nearly killed her. The people who processed me didn’t say it outright, but I overheard them mentioning it. I was so shocked, I nearly peed myself. My whole body tensed until I felt like a statue chiselled from granite.
How can they make such a mistake? How could they think I’ve done something so terrible? I’m not a bad person. I don’t do evil.
Gracie taught me what evil is, what sends people to hell. Stuff like poking needles into insects, or stealing from a blind beggar’s plate, that makes a person bad. Inflicting pain and suffering intentionally, like on purpose, with a kind of freaky pleasure inside, that’s where the line is drawn. I’ve never stepped over that line. I don’t do such things.
I swear, cross my heart and wish to die, I’m not a bad person.
The thought of Gracie adds another level of unbelievable. She’d be horrified if she could see me sitting in a police station, accused of hurting somebody. She’s always condemned violent behaviour, always said, there are other ways to solve a dilemma. If somebody hurts me, she said, I mustn’t lower myself to a standard that’s unbecoming of a beautiful girl like me.
I wonder what the woman who got stabbed did to deserve this. To be clear, I’m not saying, she deserved it, but my guess is, nobody stabs a person without a reason. Which, again, proves the point that is wasn’t me who did this. I can’t think of a single reason to stab anybody.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish