He feels sick, and not just physically. Sick in his soul. He's not a killer, he hates dead bodies. And yet he's always believed that there are existences so awful that death would be mercy, and in her position he'd probably ask the same thing, but there's something so unfair about asking him to kill her. He's a kid. He's fifteen. He should be worried about freshman prom and getting a driver's permit, not scrabbling through a year of hell and then winding up here.
He doesn't have a knife, or a rope, or anything that would make this fast.
"I have poison, but you'd have to keep it down a few hours." His eyes travel to the socks he stole. He could smother her. It might be less horrible than bashing her head in with a rock.
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He feels sick, and not just physically. Sick in his soul. He's not a killer, he hates dead bodies. And yet he's always believed that there are existences so awful that death would be mercy, and in her position he'd probably ask the same thing, but there's something so unfair about asking him to kill her. He's a kid. He's fifteen. He should be worried about freshman prom and getting a driver's permit, not scrabbling through a year of hell and then winding up here.
He doesn't have a knife, or a rope, or anything that would make this fast.
"I have poison, but you'd have to keep it down a few hours." His eyes travel to the socks he stole. He could smother her. It might be less horrible than bashing her head in with a rock.