Title: Optional

Text: I looked at my hands, the ones that had just killed three people. But no matter how much I stared, they were still my hands. Just like they were in the times when I avoided killing. The intent to kill doesn't live in the fingers, the trigger, or even the bullets. It lives deep in the human soul. It's not just memories; it's a shadow that follows. And though I seem the same as before, I feel how my hands begin to differ. They are no longer the same. Each paragraph will be a test.

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