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She takes a last look on the apartment as she stands by the door then she shuts the door and leaves. She heads for the elevator, walking slowly, listening to the echo of her red high heels clattering on the ground. Listening to her own thoughts about what she has just done. She has just killed her own husband. She stops suddenly. She looks back at her now far away apartment. She looks away quickly and continues walking. The old, scary man staying in apartment Nine, is sitting outside by his door painting. She looks at his wooden easel, glancing at the blood red hands painted on his bright, white canvas. She looks away immediately. She continues walking, clattering. She remembers her own red blood hands an hour ago. She stops in the middle of the hallway. She reminisces. She is in the kitchen with the knife. She hides it behind her back and wipes the sweat from her forehead. She walks precariously out of the kitchen and into their bedroom watching her step on the creaking wooden floor boards. He’s asleep. Deep asleep. She takes the knife and brutally stabs him in the chest. His eyes open widely and gazes to death as blood spurts from his mouth on his green shirt and onto the white bed sheets. Her hands are drowned in his crimson red blood. She smiles, her vibrant red lipstick gleams. She fixes her scarf, her black scarf around her neck tightly. She continues walking and reaches the elevator. She presses the rusty button slowly waiting for the elevator’s arrival. She convinces herself, ‘He deserved it!’ She smiles contentedly. The elevator arrives. She enters and presses the ground floor button. She looks at her reflection in the dusty mirror. She stares at her bold eyes. Tears start falling on her white cheeks. The elevator reaches the second floor and she quickly starts wiping her tears and fixing her black eyeliner as it melts downwards. The door opens and she clatters out of the elevator. She notices that not a single human being is around. Not even the security guard who’s usually sitting by the big glass entrance. ‘Did I kill them all?’ She chuckles staring wildly everywhere. She heads clattering towards her big red car, gets in, and drives away. She holds the wheel nervously, sweating. She turns on the radio at its loudest. She still hears her racing heart beats. She turns it off clicking the button quickly. But her racing heart beats still won’t stop. She heads to the tailor at the end of the street. She remembers her husband’s eyes, his cruel eyes, when he told her, “I forgot to pick up your black dress from the tailor.” She gets angry and goes to the bathroom. She washes her face with the cold water drizzling down her vengeful lips. She leaves the bathroom and goes to their bedroom. She finds him peacefully sleeping. She kisses his right cheek and gets up planning everything on her way to the kitchen. She’s in front of the tailor. She opens the door thinking, ‘He deserved it. He deserved it.” She shuts the car door violently and clatters to the tailor’s front door. She smiles.

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Clattering.

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