You had slowly sunk your knife up to its hilt into his chest, piercing it into half. You saw his life slowly evaporate from his eyes. But you still heard his heart's pump which had grew old, crumpled and soon would be silent. You had felt his life trembling through the knife in your hand. It had almost overcame you for time being, the gentleness of being at the center of act of guilty. Guilty of being humane less. Then again it started flowing in your veins, but this time in much vigor, fearful and drearily. This largely ephemeral fear went away when you started plumping the knife several time with out being aware of him. It was like cutting butter with no resistance at all. While doing so you had went to floor with him to finish him. His eyes was remain wide open, you got the impression that he was imploring you not to harm him but to do right thing.*

You heard a hazy voice, "Thank you."