He Asked me to Murder Him
Is it murder if he asked you to do it?
I am an old woman, by earthbound measures. That doesn’t mean much to me but it seems to mean a lot to other people around me.
You can’t do this or that at your age, I hear them say.
Bullshit.
You’re going to die if you don’t stop doing that, is another comment I hear.
Little did they know I’ve had that experience many times and it’s not so bad. It’s more about how you go.
I’m waiting for some sign from George. The waiting is the hardest. I haven’t heard from him since the murder six months ago.
I didn’t want to do it but he asked me to. I can still feel the snap as the knife cut through the cartilage on the side of his neck.
He had promised me he wouldn’t struggle, wouldn’t fight me. But at the last minute, he put in a mighty effort to save himself. I considered that he might have changed his mind but I had made a promise. I had to go through with it.
My trial is coming up. And I have to figure out how to get myself out of this. I can use a little support here, George.





