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Half past one in the morning was a strange time to be awake. By then the sky was black as ink, any stars in the abyss being blotted out by lazily drifting clouds. The only light was from the full moon. It was by this dim and pale light that Sock woke,abruptly aware of the slick and slightly sticky feeling of blood on his hands. Not an unfamiliar feeling to him, but odd considering he had been asleep. Blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision, his eyes settled on two corpses and the blood soaked bedding they were laying on. This was his parents’ room. Those were his parents. The teen’s mind raced as he slowly processed the situation and what his options were. Or rather his only option if he didn’t want to face repercussions for this.

Despite the hour, Sock wasn't certain of the amount of time he had to do this. Waking up to his parents' corpses was unpleasant enough, not even taking into account his hand in their demise. For all he knew they could have called for help or made a lot of noise in the struggle. He had been told it took a lot to wake him, and sleeping through two murders only added to the evidence towards this. These thoughts were what drove the teen as he pulled off his bloodsoaked pajamas and changed into something more comfortable- more suitable to die in. While in his room, he glanced at the pile of letters on his otherwise neat and tidy desk. The most recent of his pen pal’s letters lay on the top, unanswered. Biting his lip, Sock took a pen and paper to give his one friend one last reply. The boy's hands deftly scrawled out the message, careful to avoid getting any remaining blood on the paper. It was shorter than he would like, but under the circumstances he couldn’t spare much time to a detailed letter.

Dear Jonathan,

It's been fun writing to you these past few years, and I've liked being able to feel like I had a friend. But they say good things never last. Something personal came up, and I won't be able to write to you anymore.

Sorry for how sudden this was,

With his last goodbye sealed and in the mailbox, the now murderer set about cleaning up his mess. With any luck no one would know about what happened for a few days. That would leave plenty of time for Jonathan to get his letter.