[ WP ] When someone is murdered , their name appears on the skin of the killer . You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there .

I've never met a killer. At least, I do n't think so. I dated this chick Maggie for a while who had the name'Kyle' scrawled on her arm. When I saw it, she said that it was a drunken decision to get a tattoo of her ex's name. I think I believed her... or maybe I did n't. Needless to say, that relationship did n't work out. 
 I've always been a pretty nervous guy. Nervous I'll get fired for a tiny mistake, worried my taxi driver will spontaneously decide to run me off the road, nervous that my first drink will somehow magically get me wasted and I'll embarrass myself. That last one is kinda important. 
 So I was at work yesterday and one of my coworkers Neil walks up and peers over my cubicle. I jumped ( of course ). 
 `` Hey, what's up Mark?'' he says, `` Me and Greg were gon na go out and watch the Hawks game over at Joe's bar. Feel like swinging by?'' 
 Now, Neil is one of those guys that has always made me nervous. He looked like... I dunno, like he had way too many friends in high school. You know what I mean? Anyway, my brain immediately goes to what this guy could want. Was he going to play some prank on me? Sit me next to some hottie to watch me sweat? What? 
 For some reason, I said yes. I have no idea why. The word just kind of came out of its own accord, and before I knew it, I was out at the bar. 
 And I got drunk. SO drunk. I think that was the plan. `` Hey here's this super nerdy guy, let's get him wasted and see what happens.'' 
 I wish I could tell you what happened that night, but to be honest... I do n't remember anything. One second I'm sitting at the bar knocking back a shot and the next I'm waking up in bed. 
 And DAMN that was hard. I've never had a hangover like that. Opening my eyes hurt. Breathing hurt. The simple idea of moving from this spot hurt. 
 It took about ten minutes, but I managed to reach my phone ( in my pocket... I was still wearing all my clothes ) and I start emailing my boss with my eyes mostly closed. 
 ``... sorry... I'm... not... feeling... well... and... what the fuck?'' 
 My fingers felt sludgy, like I had dipped them in glue. I look at my phone to see dark red-brown stains on the keyboard. And suddenly I got that feeling. Worse than the hangover. That feeling in your stomach when you know something terrible but you do n't want to accept it. 
 It was the hardest thing I've ever done, slowly sliding my eyes over to the right, to my hand holding up my phone, down my arm, to just below my elbow. And there it was. The name. 
 `` Neil'' 
 Shit. 
 How did this happen. 
 How did this happen. What am I gon na do. How did this happen. Shit. 
 SHIT. 
 It did n't happen. It could n't have happened. How? This big jock-looking guy versus me? How? 
 And just like that, no more hangover. I got out of bed and I ran to the stairs. I needed air. I needed to think. 
 Shit. 
 I ca n't go downstairs. People will see me. They'll know. Shit. 
 Shit. 
 The roof. I used to smoke up there, back when I smoked. Smokes! That'll calm me down. I ran back in my apartment and grabbed a stale pack out of the drawer in the kitchen, then up to the roof. 
 I sat on the side of the building smoked the whole thing. It was disgusting. You ever smoked year old cigarettes? No good. They made me throw up but I did n't care. It probably was for the best. And I'm just sitting there. Trying to figure this out. But I ca n't. 
 How did this happen? 
 It could n't have happened. 
 And then suddenly, I made the easiest decision. It was so perfect. I could breath again. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for the first time since yesterday. 
 And I fell. 
 I always thought you would n't feel the impact from falling off of a six story building. But I did. It took a few minutes for me to die. And all I could do was stare, unable to close my eyes, at that name. 
 Neil. 
 I thanked the god I did n't believe in when my vision started to fade away and I could finally die. It was almost peaceful, except for the pain. 
 And then I woke up. 
 Murder trials are secret now, so there's no way I would have known. How would I have imagined they could bring me back? 
 The trial was short. It was n't like I tried to cover anything up. I thought I was going to die, or at least stay dead. 
 The judge was harsh. Maximum sentence. 
 I'll be in prison for the rest of my life. Which will be, as far as I know, 50 years. Why would they keep me alive after I've served my sentence? 
 It was a hard think for me to come to terms with. I, Mark McHanson, am a murderer. 
 But hey, at least they let me write this. Though my arm is really kind of distracting. It keeps drawing my eye. The names of those I killed. 
 `` Neil 
 Mark'' 

