I admit to it all. No excuses, no explanations, no defence. I killed them. I walked down the line, I put my gun to their heads, I pulled the trigger, they died. No one else was involved, no one needed to be, I took it on myself to do it.
It wasn’t self-defence, not in the moment, not as an abstract, not at all. It was murder.
No. It was execution. Cold and hard and violent. No passion, that’d make it something else I suppose.
Is that a guilty plea? Sure. I’m guilty. Guilty of everything I’m accused of. More even, because there are no charges for thinking the thoughts I thought, or walking away like I did. Maybe there don’t need to be though, I guess that part’s not for you to judge. Someone will though.
I see you. Sitting up there, in the gallery. It’s hard for you, I guess. Sorry but I’m sane and sorry but I can’t make a show of remorse. I might feel it though, if that helps, but I’m not ready to think about that. I am guilty though, I can offer you that. I’m guilty and I deserve everything I’m going to get. I deserve justice and I want it and don’t worry, if you were, I’m not expecting any redemption from it. It just needs to be done, because I’m guilty.
I killed them, I confess. I walked down the line, I put my gun to their heads, I pulled the trigger, they died.