Cut to sometime later and my remorse is slowly eating away at my soul. I don't know how I can live life with this horrendous murder on my hands. So far no one has discovered who committed the crime and I have the choice not to reveal my wicked deeds.... But I can't! I must cleanse my conscience! Even if it means rotting in a lonely jail cell for who knows how many years. I understand the repercussions of my choice but I must confess or I'll go crazy. I think that my sentence might not be so long because I'm confessing.
Next scene. Me, sweeping the hallways in the prison. It's stark and drab. Harsh light shines through the bar covered window up near the ceiling.
I step outside myself and ask the narrator "how long was she in there?"
"She never got out" he says bleakly.
I woke up feeling so sad for that old women sweeping the hallway.
Aren't dreams just great?
***after reading this It sounds a lot worse and more depressing than it felt at the time. Dreams are funny that way.