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I'm sorry Val

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The keys dangel in his hand as he makes his way to his car.
There is a weight and heat in the air, that makes every one of his moves feel twice as hard as usual.
With every step he feels sicker in a way, but also relived. Like the moment before you throw up, you expect that it wil hurt, but that in the long run you will feel better.
He can almost already feel the burden lift from his shoulders and he yearns for it. It is an ache deep inside of him, that guilt that he will kill people, that are far better then him, but he is still sure of his path.
It must be done.
Maybe one day he will even find a way to wash his hands free from the blood on them, but until then it is a necassry evil.
His hands graps the steering weel tightly as he drives. It is reassuring to feel that familar smooth surface in his hands
Slowly the calming affect wins over his nervousness and he takes his phone and dials.

,,Hello my friend."

,,Hello Saracen.'' ,,It is nice of you to swing by,