He was holding a knife.
I wanted to stop him, but he didn’t seem to be noticing me. He was approaching his prey.
I wanted to cry aloud, but my voice didn’t come out. He bent down with his knife pointing at his prey’s chest.
My hands shivered. I felt nausea. I started weeping.
“Somebody please take this girl outside of this mortuary. She is not fit to do a postmortem”, said he while sending me out.
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