Murderer?

My life had not been the most interesting of all, so far. Every day, I would wake up at 6
a.m. to get ready to go to the factory at 8, leaving at 12, so by 3 p.m. I would go back to work and
go back home at 9. Home I called it, but it actually was a dark, disgusting, tiny apartment. I
would go straight to the kitchen to prepare something to eat and watch TV, and then go to bed at
12 p.m. and do the same the next morning. However, this day in particular there was going to
happen something I would have never expected to happen.
It was a calm evening. Not a single cricket dared to disturb the quietness of the night.
There had been some gossip at the factory, about some murderer, that I could not take away from
my head. I got home, as usual, and grabbed a half-eaten sandwich from the fridge. I sat on my
couch, feeling tired and drowsy as I had never felt in my whole life. My eyes got closed, though I
made an effort to stay awake. I ate as I stared at the blank television screen, daring myself to turn
it on. Finally, curiosity won out over denial, and I reached for the remote, dreading what I was
about to see.
So, there it was. My picture on the news, with a huge wanted sign. I was shocked and
trembling when I saw my hands. They were all covered with blood. Suddenly, there was a knocking
at the door and some blue lights coming from my window. Sir, we need to take you to the station
to make some questions. Some days after that, I was in jail, without any knowledge of what had
actually happened. I closed my eyes so as to meditate about the whole thing. I opened them and
the only thing in my sight was darkness and a feeling of relief.