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Impulse Control

You didn’t mean to kill her. Okay. Maybe you did. She was annoying. You thought you had better impulse control. You made it a rule after the last one: don’t kill friends.

You weren’t friends, really. She was in your social group. You don’t have friends, per say. Acquaintances. You need to look normal. Avoid suspicion.

But you got angry and sloppy. Now you have to fake cry when your acquaintances hold another vigil; hand out missing posters for somebody you know isn’t coming back. You’ve got it under control.

And then you get the call. “They found her! She’s alive.”



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