Memories of Murder

Memories of Murder ★★★★★

In America they catch criminals by using their brains, here we rely on our feet, except we're always drop kicking the wrong suspects. In America they search for evidence, we have no need for that here, I can know who's guilty by simply staring into their eyes, except my own eyes had betrayed me time and time again, especially at the most crucial moment. Shit, shit, shit, it's so hard to tell. Documents do not lie, except when the information is not the answer we want, then it cannot be trusted. If I kick them hard enough, maybe they'll tell the truth, except when my own leg is taken from me. The hands, the answer lies on their hands, except, well, in the end they look the fucking same. Three women dead, someone must have done it, a killer hiding out there, a plain-looking killer with soft, feminine hands, this man exists, yet impossible to be found. It's the rain's fault, no it's the radio station's fault, no it's the kid's fault. It's the forensics team, it's your incompetence, it's his temper, it's....! It's everyone else's but mine, because I will solve this, even if I had to run everywhere, I will solve this, I will take off the pants of every monk, hang every convicted sex offender upside down to get a confession, I will chase as far as these legs can carry me, except when they can't anymore.

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