One day I'll wake up, and you'll be there again, in my arms, sleeping blissfully.

One day I'll wake up, and feel the greatest relief ever known to a living being.

One day I'll wake up, and every mistake, every hurt, every regret will become nothing but a bad dream.

One day I'll wake up, and everything will be right again.

Maybe one day I'll wake up.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall

Who's the wrongest of them all?

Who's the hated, who is fated

To repeat the same mistakes?

Mirror, Mirror, if you're able

Tell me all about this fable

About the girl who had it all,

Who did not fight to keep it whole.

Pushing my limits

For something so superficial

Collecting bad habits

On my self-destruction mission

I have lost all the plot

Since the moment we've ended

I've no clue what's the point,

Don't want to go on, but I'm too scared to end it

All I can do now

Is crash and burn

Push myself to an all-time low

And burn, burn, burn

Somebody else would fit you much better

You would be happy, living a dream

Every day your joy would grow greater

If only I had never been

There's no coming back now

All what's left is to crash and to burn

The end's getting nearer, life's taking its toll

In my final nights I will burn, burn, burn

I look at myself

In the shard of a mirror

Feel so sick of myself

Feel the end getting nearer

My love, you should hate me

I'm so sorry you don't

For all the times I made you happy

I've hurt you tenfold

My love, if only I could

Give you the rest of my time

You would have it all

It's better spent on you than I

"Ever seen a mess like this before?" Ross looked at her partner.

"More than enough." The seasoned detective kept his eyes at the bloody pulp that was once a man's head. A drop of blood fell down on the mashed remains. "But you never get used to it."

A headless body hanged upside down in the alley where the two were standing, tied to the lamppost by a thick rope. The writing on the nearby wall read 'You missed one, but I didn't.'

"Any ideas, rook?"

Young detective took a long, careful look at the grizzly scene.

"Well, while we don't yet know who the vic is, I suppose it's safe to say that it was personal. Nothing was taken, so robbery wasn't the goal. And robbers don't usually crush their victims heads."

"Thought so too. And while personal, it wasn't spontaneous. Our perp wanted to leave a message."

"And if the message was meant for us, then the vic might not be entirely innocent."

"Good point. What else?"

"Well, we've got our stabbing weapon here..." Ross nodded to the knife on the ground. "But nothing that could be used to crush a human head. So either our murderer took one weapon with them, but for some reason left the other..."

"Or there was no second weapon at all. Which would mean that our perp should be strong as hell."

"Or very angry."

"Hmm... plausible. Shame we don't have any witnesses." Hughes sighed and fixed his beige hat.

"...I think we have something better than that." Ross tapped her partner on the shoulder and pointed at the building opposite of the alley. Facing them and the alley was an old surveillance camera.

"Nice catch." Hughes gave an approving nod to his young partner. "Let's go talk to the neighbours."

I was always afraid of knives. The things they can do to a human body if not handled with care disturbed me to my core, making me shudder at the thought of cutting myself or someone else. But that night I couldn't care less, as my hate for him was far stronger than my fear of any sharp objects.

I had years to fantasize about my revenge, weeks to think if I am really up to it and mere days to plan it. Still, despite such deadline, I managed to come up with a perfect plan. Everything I needed I bought with cash in many different places all around the city. I found out where he would be, where he would go, and I made a route of my own, intersecting with his at the most secluded area. His death was a long time coming, and I would not--could not waste this opportunity.

I waited for him around the corner, my black clothes helping me blend with the shadows. He was right where he was supposed to be, and just as he turned the corner I grabbed him by the shoulder and plunged the blade of my knife deep into his stomach. He tried to scream, but only a choked gasp left his mouth. He tried to fight and even managed to land a few punches, but nothing could stop me at that point. I pulled my knife out and stabbed him again, and again, and again. He fell down on the ground, moaning with pain and clutching his wounds. I moved closer, removed my mask and looked straight into his eyes. I couldn't tell if the terror on his face was from the realization that his life has ended, or from the realization who ended it. I didn't care, I just wanted him to know that it was me who killed him. I wanted him to know why he was lying on the ground with his guts out. I wanted him to know that his death was a consequence of his own actions.

I dropped the knife and put my boot on his stomach. I pressed, hard, and the scream he let out was euphoric. Blood gushed out of the wounds, spilling all over his body and drenching my boots. I asked him if he had any regrets. I asked him if he was sorry. He begged me for mercy. Funny, that. He never listened to me when I begged. I moved closer, put my boot on his head and stomped. I heard a sickening crunch... and then I stomped again.

Then again.

And again.

And again and again and again and again and--

I stopped only when I realized that I was hitting concrete. I stepped back, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The night's air was crisp with a slight hint of metal. I counted to three, exhaled and opened my eyes. A mess of mashed bones and flesh was all that was left of his head. I never knew I had that sort of strength in me. What I did know was that I had to leave that alley as soon as possible. Yet, where was one last thing I had to do.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a rope and a red spray can. Usually people try to hide their wrongdoings, but I didn't do anything wrong. He did, he paid for it, and now his headless body would serve as a warning to others like him.

I am not afraid anymore. Not of him, not of others like him, and especially not of knives.

Do you still remember our nights? How we used to walk back home at night, crossing almost the entire city? How, once in a while, we would stop to look at the stars and wonder? Remember how alive, how real we felt during those nights?

Do you still remember how, be it a good or a bad day, we always had each other's back? How you fell into my arms when you felt miserable, and how dearly we embraced each other? How you always supported and believed in me when nobody else did, not even me?

Remember how, during our nights, we danced and laughed in the freedom of the empty streets, feeling free to act however we pleased? In those nights, we were far away from the worries of the day, from the expectations, from the preying eyes filled with prejudice and hate.

Do you still remember those nights? Do you still remember me? Because I do. Because I never went anywhere.

You've moved away and you've moved on, and I can't blame you, really. I guess it's just a part of growing up. But I wish we never did.

Even though you have left and forgotten me, seldom remembering me as a childish make-believe, I have never left or forgotten you. All those years later I'm still here, in the back of your head, waiting to catch you with my arms wide open.

Always cherishing our nights back home,

Kate