Note to the Reader: The following snippets are entries from the journal of the murderer in my work in progress: my latest mystery suspense novel set to be released soon. There are a few things I would like you to be aware of as the reader. One: these snippets are raw and perhaps hard to read. They may contain scenes that evoke terrifying emotions. Please take care as you proceed. Two: If you would like to collect the free themed artwork you see here, you may throughout the month of November at rionnamorgan.cent.co. Thank you!
I Never Gave It Much Thought
I never gave it much thought. You know—to what could be considered a murder weapon. But sitting there in her apartment, so neat and tidy, I started to think about it. She lived near the top floor of this great big apartment building in downtown, like thirty floors up. I thought about just throwing her out the window, but I guess the people who design these high-rises created safety features—the windows only open so far. Too bad.
But I digress. As I was sitting in her apartment waiting for her to come home from work, I had time on my hands. So, I started thinking about what could be considered a murder weapon.
Looking around at the tall walls and her flimsy frilly curtains, there really wasn’t anything in the category of stereotypical weapons. No guns or knives. In the kitchen there were knives. Nice ones. But not so much in the living room. She did have a few books lined up proper on the bookshelf and a few heavy marble bookends. I dismissed those as the weapon of choice. They just seemed too pedestrian somehow. I was after something else entirely.
Overall, her apartment was kind of a fun place. She had a huge print of what I can only assume was Neverland over the fireplace. You know that “second to the right and straight on till morning” Neverland. She had a small pirate sword that I can only assume was a letter opener. It was sitting on a stack of letters. I picked it up and stabbed the air with it a few times. Then I put it back. Probably not sturdy enough for the job at hand.
I looked through her books and smiled. She had lots of fantasy and other worldly stories. We would probably make good friends. I looked through her blankets and picked out a soft pink one to wrap her in.
I wandered along looking at the pictures of her family hanging on the wall and the few she had scattered on the table behind her couch. Why do people even have those skinny couch tables?
I was beginning to get agitated though. That’s always what she calls it. “Don’t go getting agitated.” Her voice, even when she’s not there, grates on me. But I was getting agitated because I hadn’t found my weapon yet.
The gods seemed to be smiling down on me though because just as I heard her key turn in the lock, the hour chimed on the clock beside me. It was a funny little thing. It was a crocodile, and the face of the clock was his stomach. I smiled. How fitting. A ticking crocodile in a Neverland apartment.
Today Was Just Awful
Today was just awful. I didn’t want to leave the house much less go on the adventure, as she called it. I hated the mere thought of it.
As soon as I woke up, I knew today was the day. I don’t like being away from people. I like people. I like how they talk and walk. I like how they eat and how they smell. People are interesting. People are funny. Some of them aren’t very nice, like those narcissistic people. Those people are awful. Have you ever met one? If you have, you should just leave now. They have this blackness around them that no matter how nice somebody is, they just destroy them. But overall, people are nice. I know a lot of nice people.
Oh! You know what!? I especially like the lady who sits on that bench on the street corner and feeds the birds. She sings to them, and they sing back. (I know that’s not true, but it’s a nice thought.) And I really like the guy who owns the grocery around the corner. He’s always getting in new fruit or cookies or little pies. He tells me about them when I go in. I am always nice back and buy whatever he tells me about.
That was my consolation for the day. Even before I got out of bed, I knew that I would walk by the bird lady, and I would visit the grocery to buy today’s new item. So, I did. I rushed through breakfast and put on my sturdy hiking boots, and off I went.
I bought a package of cookies. They looked so delicious – pink frosting and a few sprinkles.
Then I set off. I borrowed a GPS from my neighbor, parked at the base of the forest road, and followed the unmarked path – just like she told me to. Even though it was just a bit after noon, the light from the sun didn’t penetrate down to the forest floor. I was grateful that I brought my flashlight. But with every step further along the path the more worried I got. What if the GPS stopped working? What if the flashlight didn’t have new batteries? What if I got lost? Every step – these worries kept getting worse and worse!
I paused a moment and sat down on a fallen log beside the path and dug through my pack. But I didn’t have anything that would help me find my way back, no string to tie to the trees, no ribbon. Nothing. The only thing that could possibly work was my cookies. If I broke them up and left a little trail, I might be able to find my way back.
I’m not ashamed to say that thinking about ruining my cookies was the literal worst. I tore open the package and breathed in the fresh sweetness. I pulled out one of them and took the tiniest nibble. Sigh. It was so good. I took another nibble and another. The frosting was so creamy and perfect. It had that sugary outer crisp with the inner layer of smooth cream.
I looked back toward where I had parked. I couldn’t even see through the thick to see the parking lot. I looked in the direction I was supposed to be walking. I still had a long way to go.
So, I did what I had to do. I mashed every single one of them to bits and sprinkled the bits as I walked. I found the cabin, busted in, did my job and left.
Now I’m back home. The fire is going. I have my book. I have my tea. And a new bag of cookies.