The Manslaughter.

As I type this I’m chilling by the beach in Virginia, sipping a Starbucks cappuccino and soaking up the sun. The states have been kind to me. But while I was here I stopped off at Barnes and Noble and picked up a book and the goal is to finish the story.

They give you a couple sentences and then you have a page to fill out a story. 
I thought it’d be cool to share mine with you! 
What I was given: the yellow lines on the highway went by in a blur. And we flew through the night and we felt free. But we weren’t, we knew it. We were running from something, and running away was never a path to freedom. I thought about telling John to turn back. I thought about suggesting…
Here’s how I finished it: 
That we beg the police to forgive us, that it was manslaughter, that because we turned our selves in, our sentence shouldn’t be so harsh. 
But John refused, he said they’d never believe us. They’d never believe me. It was my fault. 
I didn’t mean to, he was coming at me and suddenly the knife was in my hand. Then it wasn’t, it was on the floor, inside of my attacker. 
John walked in then, and made himself an acomplayse to murder. I told him not to. 
I can still feel the blood in my hands, the thick warm texture was unforgettable. 
“They’ll find him” I began. 
“And we’ll be out of the country.” He said cutting me off. 
“They’ll find us,” I said under my breath.
“No they won’t! We left NOTHING behind!” He was angry at me, angry at my attitude. He acted as though I WANTED to get caught. 
“It’ll be fine Rachel”
I knew it wouldn’t be. I just ended someone’s life. You don’t get to escape from that, ever. That’s not how it works. 
Let me know if you liked a short story from me. I might post some of my other ones that I have locked away. 

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