Dearest Police Department
This letter is an account of my experience on the 14th of August 1943…
The men being away on their trip gave us the time to ourselves we dearly needed. The seven of us sat chatting and giggling about our simpleton husbands. Honestly I felt I missed dear Johnson. He was so kind to me and his charming smile never failed to amuse me. Our little gossip party continued but I did not take much part in it. I might even say I was the odd one out. The one who stayed out of conversation and instead contemplated the story I had just been reading by Agatha Christie.
I knew this party was about to get a hell of a lot more interesting.
The hostess had taken a sip of her tea and coughed loudly and hoarsely. Foam spilt over the corner of her mouth. Mrs. Pendleton tried to reach out to her mother but she soon started doing the same thing. Suddenly nearly every girl at the table began to convulse and writhe with seething foaming mouths.
“Oh dear”, I said, “Looks as though you’ve swallowed some Strichnine. Nasty bit of good isn’t it. My my Mrs. Pendleton, you especially deserve it being that you tried to screw Johnson. Well well well the rest of you deserve it as well. You gossipers and scammers and cheaters. Liars, all of you. And yet look at all your faces… So cold and sad. What a pity. Then again my parties are much better. Far less casualties.”
I laughed a little to myself and took a sip of my tea choking on it as I did so. Foam spilled from my mouth as I jabbed the antidote into my leg. Now I looked like a survivor. Those nasty wenches got what they deserved.
The butler was arrested and I got away Scot free. I write this letter to you confessing the details in the fullest extent. I am remorseful for my actions but after this letter is published to you I will have already taken a lethal dosage of the same poison. I hope to be reunited with poor Johnson who recently died of a little strichnine himself. Good bye old world. Hello Johnson.
Signed, Mary Lopen.
As I walked along the cold damp streets of New York City I felt a sudden sense of calm. My head was held high and my arms hung slightly as if I was entirely unstressed. I felt the chill air climbing up my spine as I smelt the crisp scent of a hotdog. My stomach grumbled and I seemingly floated toward the cart. The red thick ketchup dripping down the side of the savory treat reminded me of the day prior when the bad thing happened. I got teary eyed as I stared deeply down at the bloo- I mean ketchup. I thought of the dagger sticking out of my poor uncles back and the red sticky liquid spilling upon the ground at my feet. Remaining in deep thought as I walked a man in a homberg hat and a dark brown jacket bumped into me. His eyes looked familiar. It was almost as if I had seen him before. I do believe it was his eyes that drew my attention. His dark framed glasses were scratched like he was just recently in a fight. We both went different ways without a word between us. Suddenly I remembered exactly where I knew him from. It was him! The man who I watched stab my uncle in the alley. That bastard was just walking around like nothing happened. He stole a life without a bit of regret for that weary soul. I turned to look back at him and there he was just behind me wide eyed with an eerie smirk. His charming lightning blue eyes had a glimmer of light in them. I watched him reach into his inner jacket pocket as he slid his knife out. The knife that had taken one life already. It still had blood on it. The rust corroded the blade. I walked towards him ready to speak when… I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I looked down and saw his steely blade piercing my side. I punched him across the face and bashed his head against the wall of the local club. I took the knife out of my side and slashed his sickening throat. As blood gushed out of him and I watched the life slowly fade from his eyes I closed mine knowing I had not much time before I bled out and met my uncle once more. I smiled ruefully and rest at last… Was I a killer? Was it just self defense? At this point these questions mattered less. I was content with my own actions and that’s all that mattered. My life was over but so was the persons who killed a good man.