Book fragment:

-How did you kill him?- 

He asked me when we were alone, face to face in the tiny interrogation room

-How? I don't know, I'm not used to killing like this-

I replied to him and added...

-You know, in reality I consider it like a barbaric act, an act without reason, a desperate and anguished act, I think that each stab, was a cry for help, a shout of pain, a cry of suffering, I feel that every single time that the knife went in, thousands and thousands of tears had a reward, they had rest, they had a truce, and when I took it out, its felt like it needed more strength to produce that movement, it was even with greater force, with greater rage, with greater affection...

-Affection? 

Asked me the frankly curious lawyer

-Affection.

I replied affirming

-With a broken, worn-out affection, spent, interrupted, when the knife penetrated that enormous body, it tore not only its flesh, but the heart of the one who wielded it, tore the unfulfilled dreams, tore the unseen eyes, it tore unkissed lips, it tore apart battered hearts...

-And, why seventy?

He asked

-Because I was exhausted, because my strengths left me, abandoned me. Because the tiredness seduced me and the fury became my greatest companion, because sorrow abandoned me leaving a trail of the saddest desistance, and the deepest loneliness, or perhaps simply because my hand did not allow me more...

-So you confess that you...