She was dead for sure. There was no sound coming from her, for one thing. My own breath was loud in my ears. My heart pounded, every beat an accusation. My thoughts were bizarre. They jumped around my head in no order. I thought, is this real? Dear God in Heaven, dear Mother Mary have I actually taken her life from her? I thought, are my lips blue? They feel like they should be blue. So strange that I should have the same sensation as when her bloody dog barks at me. Adrenaline comes when it’s needed. The body does not distinguish between these things. Dogs. Killing; it’s all the same. I am still lying on my back, my eyes closed against the whole sorry mess. Breathe. I don’t know if I am talking to myself or to her. Am I hurt? An ache in my arm and then the reminder: ah yes, I am holding the hammer still, my fist so tight my whole arm is in pain. She won’t have survived that. A blow to the head – I remember now. I hit her in the eye. I turn myself into the foetal position, hugging of all things, the weapon. No. No, no, no. My twin. I should look at her. I am afraid. Is this real? When I look at her will I see her ghost, next to her like a failed guardian angel, staring at me? Or is she alive still? I can’t hear her because my heart beats in my ears. That’s right. I’ve had a shock. I might only have imagined it. My mind, playing tricks. But I remember, as I did it, I remember her mascara was smeared. I had enough time to think, she’s sorry after all. But too late to stop... Ah. No. I will look at the weapon so. I am going to open my eyes and look. But I can smell blood, an earthy smell. I think of soil and minerals and her bare feet on warm brown earth. I uncurl myself from the thing that killed her and stretch my arm out. I will touch her skin. Then I will know. If she is cold, then I will look at her. That is the hand of a dead person alright. There is…nothing here. She is gone. She has left me alone with her body, the one she kept so well all these years. Better than mine and yet we started out with the same model. Now I have both. My fat one and her beautiful dead one, to carry with me. Her parting gift. I would like to see what she looks like now. Now, with her eye gone and her golden locks dyed blood red. I might be sick. I have a bad taste in my mouth. It’s so dark. I will open my eyes in a minute. I will look at her. Soon.