I am a very, very old man now, with rough, wrinkly skin and less hair than I used to have --- yet not yet have I forgotten my grief and shame.

How could I in the first place? For so sadly was my happy fancy beguiled into frowning, for here was I embarrassed into having this horrid shame; for there I was, excessively killing this man.

Do not think that my tale hath happened so much a little bit of a while ago, for the tale that I shall relate is from those ungainly days of yore, wherefore was I at the age of thirty-two. This man I had killed, I must say, was a kind man, who was very loyal to our friendship; the whole reason why I killed him is hard to explain; yet, explain I must.

It was for we had first met at the same bookstore; at this time I was more introverted than was I extroverted, though this other young man was extremely kind and was a social butterfly. I hated him, unlike he hating me, for be indeed loved me very much.

The reason I hated him was because of how horrid his annoying speech was; he had high vocals and was of an unmanly speech which no other man hath gained. With this, every time I heard his voice I felt as if I must scream or shut him up.

It was in a dreary, dismal December to which I decided to kill him --- and in an old wine-tasting cellar did we visit each other; and was whence I had planned to murder my dear friend.

"Edgar," I said, "Thou hast not been well answering mine letters in so long. What, I ask, hast thou been doing?"

"Peter, there be a sadness among my family household; one in which I could not at all describe without breaking into tears. Therefore, in my partaking in the attempt to free us of this despair, I hath no time to answer, or even read, thy letters."

"What was it?"

" I hath told thee already, Peter. Yet, if ye insist in knowing, mine father hath lost his business, and thence we are of loss of money from this, and so far hath we no riches any longer."

"What a sad, desolate thing... I might giveth thou some amount if I hath more money for myself, yet I too hath been losing mine riches..."

Here I could not speak anymore, so thus I bade him come with me.

"What is it ye want to show me?"

"Thou shalt see, cometh forth."

Thence we entered the back of the building, and herein I closed the door. My dearest friend became frightened by my smile, and here I thrust his head to the wall two times to allow him to gain unconsciousness; so that I may slit his throat and never hear his wretched voice again. But then, before I revealed my blade, I heard him murmur a word, or two words, which was,

"Wretch, betrayal!"

and here, I slit his throat, and concealed the blade in my pocket again.

I stayed there a couple minutes, just waiting for safety of the authorities, making sure that no other man would see his wretched body.

Yet, whence I hath finally exited the room, I saw two policemen already within the hallway of which we walked through. Here, I tried to run and look myself inside the room again, but the two men held me still, and brought me to the floor, all the while I screeched and screamed!

Oh! I hear the words of my friend again! Again and again and again! 'Wretch, betrayal! Wretch, betrayal!' I know his rotting corpse hath awakened for revenge! He is here! Leave me! I shall not be seen by he! No! No! NO!

Conclusion
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