raw Redrum

On this edge of mine, a knife hit my bone. the steel formed a gate way of anger into the victim. I felt there his breathing, his heart beat. I saw his wife and kids, and the house he spent so much of his life paying off. I left the knife and stumbled back into the dust. " Its not murder, its war" my hands were painted with red. "Its not murder, its war" I stared at the motionless body as a wind rat came over for a meal. "Its NOT murder, its war" The rat knawed on the deads left hand letting a little fountain of red out. "ITS NOT MURDER".......The rat stared at me with eyes of blood and whispered........ "its war"