reoccurring nightmare

I meant to push you down the stairs but you fall over the railing.

I pushed you over the railing. I've done it a thousand times and I'd do it again.

I meant to push you down the stairs but you fall over the railing, two floors down and it's just right. Two feet lower and you would have been paralyzed for life; two feet higher and you would have died on impact. But from here, when you fall over, you land feet first-- they crumple, they shatter, your neck snaps, but it's blunt force trauma to the head that gets you, and you bleed out, red ink blossoming from under while the whites of your eyes turn a cloudy grey. Your eyelids are open, and they carry you out in a black body bag while everyone on the first floor watches, and everyone on the second floor looks down from above.

And I'm looking down at you too. They always want to hear the perpetrator out. What's their side of the story? Why did they do it?

When is it my turn to speak?

Now. It's my turn to speak.