Look out

I hold stones in my hands and lucidly wonder where to cast them. Could I break the window with the yellow drapes? No--I'll just kill someone down below. Maybe they deserve to die. What if I kill someone on their way to kill their boss. I could be an unsung hero of the potential future--but what if the boss deserves to die?

What if I killed her. . . The Her. The Her that bought the stupid little fountain that trickles over the rounded stones I was now holding. What if she died? I want her dead but . . . I don't want her 'dead' dead. I wish I was dead. No, I want to live.

I still don't know why the fuck she left.

I poured over all the reasons and nothing makes sense. We fought . . . We fought about how I don't take risks, I was too safe, she needed more. She needed more?

I can do more. Here's a risk--

My arm swung and a little stone flew into the air, glinting in the light. It was black with green veins streaking through it. I always liked that one. Damn.