As you transgress from your current train of thought, you asked yourself in bewilderment if the act you have comitted was one out of necessity, or rather, out of desire. Blood spilled is a life lost, and have you failed to realize such? By forcing the end of another's life, you snapped a thread that would weave so many tapestries that told the stories of so many intertwined lives. But no. There will be no tapestry created from the resource you so thoughtlessly ceased, as by such, the rhythm of the natural order of life and reality has been disrupted. Your own selfish desires have led you through a corridor of which there is no end, but rather, doors leading doors leading to doors leading to doors. And as you enter each successive door, more strings are cut, more blood is spilled, more lives are lost, and more disharmony is strewn amongst a fragile existence you have so carelessly shattered, and by such, the lives of those individuals who are by your hand affected can only wonder in amazement at the ripples cast about this quite pond. They can only ask, in amazment, shock, grief, and anger, why you have destroyed their life by ending another. And what can you tell them? What can you say to them to assure them that everything is going to be alright? Nothing. You can say nothing, because you're now stumbling through an empty existence, at the end of which you will find yourself trapped in a solid white room, with no doors, and no windows, and there, you will ask yourself: "Why?"