There was very little I could do at that point besides sit there and watch her die. It was sort of terrifying, actually, seeing her lay there like that, completely helpless. She was gasping for air, trying to scream for me to stop, barely being able get a word from her throat. Then, it all stopped. She stopped screaming, she stopped breathing, she stopped living. I had just killed my best friend.
    

I pulled my hands from her throat at the realization of the act I’d just committed. In a fit of rage- or whatever it was- I had seized her throat and strangled her. “Oh my gosh,” I whispered to the room, “what- what just happened?” Her neck was burning red and her eyes were still open, staring blankly at her ceiling fan, which swung rhythmically with its rotation. “Her parents will be home any minute,” I realized, and went into a panic.
    

My heart was racing, I began to hyperventilate, “It'll be okay, it'l be okay.” I don't know why I tried to convince myself, I was terrible at convincing other people of things, I don't know why I thought it would work on me. Scanning the room, I realized it would be futile to try to hide her, she had very little space to do so, so I just had to leave her there. I felt bad thinking about her parents finding her, they'd be heartbroken, but there was nothing at all that I could do about it now. I felt even worse knowing that I couldn't tell them I was sorry; to do so would be to incriminate myself, and though I was sure I’d be caught, I wanted to be caught as late as possible.
    

I decided just to leave from the back door, because climbing out the bedroom window would attract to much attention from the neighbors. My legs quaked as I ran down the stairs, and almost slipped as I ran across the kitchen to the back door.
    

I couldn't figure out why I would do such a thing, much less how I could do such a thing, such a disgusting, vile, thing. Lila had been my best friend since kindergarten, we’d gone through everything together, and now I went through death alone. All I remember is that she said something that made me livid, and I couldn't control myself, so I draped my hands around her neck and squeezed. Why didn't I stop? Why didn't I appeal to her horror and strained screaming? I could've stopped and left. Sure, we’d probably never see each other again, but she’d still be alive. I stewed over that thought for a while: if I had stopped, she’d still be alive.
    

Cold wind lashed my face as I walked through the frozen streets between my house and Lila’s, making my face sting until it was numb, a proper punishment for what I was walking away from. I presumed the sun was setting, as it was that time of day, but I couldn't see through the thick gray clouds. I couldn't focus on the scenery much anyway, because the guilt was eating its way from my churning stomach to my rambling mind, and I knew that this kind of feeling could not be cured by taking a hot shower and curling up in my bed, but that's just what I was planning to do.
    

I was still shaking when I entered my house, I managed to pass it off to my mother  as shivering from the cold. I knew my parents would know different in time, though, because I expected the police at my door any minute to take me away. I can only imagine the look on my parents’ faces: anger, disappointment, shock, horror. I can see my mother yelling, and my father holding her back, as the take me away in cuffs. Me, a delinquent, who would've thought? All the neighbors would be standing on their porches, trying to see what the commotion is about, their  little kids trying to get enough leverage to peek out of their living room windows, or squeezing passed their parents and out the door. Oh, how they’d suddenly think they were in danger the whole time they lived next to me, and  how their disillusioned kids would brag to their friends about how they lived next to a murderer.
    

My cheeks thawed as the steam rose from the shower, and I thought that maybe I was wrong, maybe Lila wasn't dead when I left. Maybe she was just unconscious. Yeah, that was it, she was just unconscious. She couldn't have been dead, she was just unconscious. Some of the weight of the situation lifted from my shoulders, and I began to hold onto the hope of Lila’s unconsciousness instead of continuing to face the probably reality that she died. After all, what was the point in dwelling on the probable? I hungered for every bit of hope I could get, so even such a little, improbable morsel was a feast.

The doorbell rang shortly after I got out of the shower, and I’m surprised my heart didn't stop, it was beating like a snare drum. Mom answered it, but it wasn't the police, it was Lila’s parents.

“You're daughter killed Lila!” Her mother  bellowed, pushing her way passed my parents and to me. I stood from the couch and backed away. “You murderer!” She yelled as she lunged for my neck and took me down.

“You murdered my daughter!” My vision was blurring, my breath shortening, “No, no,” I whimpered as loudly as I could, which sounded like the whisper of a mouse. “I'll kill you like you killed my daughter!” I heard the blurry figure on top of me scream, but she was too late, I died the moment I killed Lila