I'm sitting on the chair in a police station, looking at the mouths of two men in black-and-white checkered uniforms opposite me. It's like they're talking about something.
The man on the left has a cold expression on his face, as if he has been through too many unfortunate events. The man on the right is a little inexperienced, and there's a hint of pity in his eyes.
I don't feel any pain, nor did I regret delivering that final stab. At that moment, I even felt that I had been liberated. The warm blood that sprayed on my body was like salvation from a god.
I only regret my fervent pursuit of money in my youth. I had sacrificed my dignity, my body, and my freedom.
Over the past few days at the police station, I've had enough peace and quiet. I had the opportunity to ponder this question at a deeper level, far deeper than whatever that I've been thinking about over the years:
