Of course I’m not guilty. You can tell I’m not guilty because guilty people don’t look you in the eye. You can’t see my face over the internet but if you were here, I’d be looking you in the eye. I’d be wearing sunglasses, but they are the kind you can mostly still see through if you try, and you would see that I have the eyes of an innocent man, not in a creepy jar on my desk but in my actual eye sockets, where they live. If you were here you’d see my desk is still covered with fond pictures of the deceased, and you’d see a lot of detailed murder plans, none of which I could have possibly performed because I am an innocent man. The plans are only there because ever since I was accused of murder, I’ve been trying to figure out why it is people think I could have possibly murdered her, and how. Those are hurtful accusations and I don’t think people take that into account when they throw them around.

First of all, I had no motives. Certainly it couldn’t be because I was the primary beneficiary in her will, because it clearly states that I couldn’t get the money if I murdered her, which I was very careful not to do. It’s not like she did anything to royally piss me off, either. Even with her poorly-timed practical jokes getting on my nerves every single Tuesday, even if she did forget my birthday every year and refused to be seen with me in public, I loved this woman. Maybe not in a romantic way, or a platonic way, but certainly as a fellow human being. Good people don’t kill each other, and for the most part she was a good person.

The method was completely wrong, too. Since not killing her I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I could have killed her if she wasn’t dead and the M.O. would have been completely different. I could have easily stabbed her, or strangled her, or poisoned her coffee. Lord knows the bitch never checks her coffee for poison in the mornings. Of course, that would have been too easy, too obvious for me. No showmanship. That, I think, is why whoever framed me propped up her corpse behind my building like a department store mannequin and wrote ‘HA HA YOURE DEAD BITCH SHAI WAS HERE” in her blood on the wall behind her. Yes, they got my sense of humor down to a T, but even in a passionate, highly-excited state, I’d never omit an apostrophe, and I would certainly not have addressed this woman that I love as “bitch.”

But if I murdered her I would have been more creative than that. Just off the top of my head, I could have dismembered her and hidden each limb in a different part of town, with a clue stapled to each pointing to where the next part is. Or perhaps I would cure her flesh and make her into sandwich meat. I wouldn’t have eaten them, because Im not a cannibal, but maybe I would have donated them to a local soup kitchen because that’s just the kind of nice guy I am. Or maybe I wouldn’t have killed her at all – I could have just locked her in my basement, cut holes all over her body, and let her bleed to death naturally. But my favorite way of all would have to be shooting her in plain daylight on a busy street and then walking down to the police station to turn myself in. And since that never happened, you can easily see that I am absolutely innocent.