The summer I was 9 years old, I killed a little girl.
It's quite possible that it wasn't my fault, but it's also possible (likely, even) that I will never know for sure. Accident or not, she's still dead and nothing I can do will ever change the irrefutable fact that my hands took that little girl's life.
Guilt will do funny things to a person - make them bend over backwards trying to make amends, push them to confess their "sins" (real or imagined) just to relieve the weight of guilt. It's a cloud hanging overhead, or a millstone around the neck, or chains holding you down. All those are true, but I'm here to tell you that guilt can also be a rat gnawing a hole in your soul from the inside out.
This is my story.
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