He pulled his hands away from her neck.
“What happened?” he thought.
He blacked out during the confrontation. He could see the red handprints he had left on her porcelain neck.
“What have I done? Are those really my hands? No, they can’t be.”
Her body slumped over as it slid down the wall to form a grotesque puddle on the floor. Her head rolled over unnaturally to face him, accusing eyes wide, staring at him.
“Yes. Those are your hands on my neck, and everyone will know what you did.”
Stephanie L. Haun holds an MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Creative Nonfiction from Queens University of Charlotte. Previous works have been published in The Write Launch, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The Smart Set, Drunk Monkeys, and Beyond Words. Stephanie is a Perry Mason fanatic, an avid knitter, and a sometimes trombonist. She can be found on Twitter (@shaunwriter) and Facebook/Instagram (@stephaniehaunwriter). Her website is stephaniehaun.com.
The Centifictionist 
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