The portrait turned so ugly that my eye seemed to ache when eye contact was made with the painting. The me in the picture had aged with eyes of a cunning look and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of the hypocrite. Blood had spread over the fingers, onto the feet and even the hands. I was traumatized. I wondered whether i should confess, well maybe not. 
I decided to get rid of history. I had with me is a dagger and the past. Now allow me to kill the past.