Don't kill him. don't kill him. don't kill him.

The knife was about to be plunged towards the male on the bed. His collar was grabbed, he was bleeding all over his body. His arms especially, it seems he was skinned during the process.

I held his collar, with one hand holding the knife. I wanted to get rid of this insignificant thing. Anger boiled over me, my senses were never rational. The damage had been done and nothing was stopping me from going further.

Yet the man stood still. It seems everything I've done to him had yet to incite any reaction. The maggots were still crawling at him, eating and munching.

Why didn't he stop talking at that time? Why am I holding a knife? Why do i want to stab him? Why do i feel like this? 

After pondering about these questions, the young man replied to himself. 'He couldn't stop talking because he wanted to anger me. I'm holding a knife because I want to stab him. I want to stab him because he couldn't stop talking. I feel like this because I'm conflicted.'

It was a habbit, he would reply to his own questions at a critical moment. Because only he himself understood himself, so no other variable would be more perfect to anwser these questions than him. 

The man looked toward the left, his eyes soulless. His hair pitch black, his skin rotting. The pain didn't bring about any reaction for him. 

He suddenly grinned, as if trying to provoke me. 'go ahead' was the expression written on his face. I plunged the knife in his stomach. No reaction occurred, blood didn't pour out either. 

I was mad. He just vanished into thin air like that, his body turned to dust. I tried picking what was left of him but even the dust soon flew away. 

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I looked around my surroundings, there was only me in this room. A mirror, desk, drawers, closets, bed, pencil, note.  The mirror reflected me, but there was no trace of the man. 

The man would never appear on the mirror, it seems this time would be true too. I thought he might appear since i killed him. I stepped closer to the mirror and touched the mirror. 

The air got cold, i felt the man whispering. Yet he still wasn't reflected on the mirror, i even felt his touch. The man still had soulless eyes, his hair pitch black and his skin still rotting. 

Words coated the air, he touched my ear. I couldn't hear the first half of what he said but he soon increased his volume.

 'Change is irreversible. Since you've killed me, things will change with time. However at the end you'll still reach the same conclusion.' 

I retracted my hand from the mirror and he vanished. The air was still cold, and i had many questions. I ended up punching the mirror and it broke. Everything shattered and my hand got scratched. I was bleeding but even that wasn't enough to suppress my conflicted emotions. 

I took a piece of what was shattered and started inflicting harm upon myself. I found it weird to harm myself as it did no good but when was I ever good? Scratch upon scratch, everything kept bleeding. Every itch of me screamed to scratch. My head was constantly dizzy. 

My wrists were bleeding and the mirror no longer looked like one. Blood was dripping and it was magnificent. I grasped my hair and with frustration started gripping at it. 

Blood fell on my hair, but that didn't stop my frustration. That man had been with me for many years, this was the first time I've killed him. And even after that, he still managed to whisper words to me. 

My head was exploding and the pain was unbearable. I regret killing him. Change truly was irreversible. 

"It wasn't me. I didn't do it, I didn't kill him. He wanted to die and killed himself, I didn't do anything to him." 

Those were the lines I kept repeating. Hours had passed yet I still maintained the same pose and still mumbled out the same words. 

The man appeared again, this time he did not bother whispering. 

"You ponder about regret knowing it won't change anything, you are selfish and greedy. Yet who, none other than me could possibly understand you better? Yourself? Then if you truly believe only you yourself can understand best. That begs the question, who would I be?" 

The man's words were like needles. Stinging me at every point. 

" To you, I'm only a fragment of your imagination. But to me, I was you."