Waiting for Raskolnikov

Part 1

I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. Or, is it really an apartment? It's more like an old, abandoned closet that I decided to inhabit. The stairs are dim and cramped as I ascend, and I have to duck my head to avoid hitting the ceiling. I climb slowly and quietly so as to avoid my landlord, I don't remember the last time I paid the rent. Then, I abruptly, and pridefully, remember—I don't have a landlord anymore. Why is that, you may ask? It's because I killed her. In fact, I just disposed of her body and hid her money. But, I still need to be quiet. If anybody noticed me, they would see the bloodstains covering my clothes, and that would arouse unwanted suspicion. Finally, I am outside my apartment door. I fumble for my keys, and attempt to unlock my door, but I realize it is already unlocked. Whatever, I must have forgotten to lock it on the way out. It's not a big deal. I open my door and enter my apartment.

Alone at last.

Or so I thought.