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The perfect murder is done right, by someone smart. People on the… slower side tend to get caught. I sigh to myself. I hate sloppy people.
I mean, would it really have taken that much effort to put on some gloves and a hairnet, wipe away the blood spatter, incinerate the weapon and rearrange some crucial evidence? No, it wouldn’t have. But people get sloppy and leave things, things that get them...
He stared at her as she slowly, with a trembling hand, took the paper from his hand.
His heart was racing, the horrors of the last hour replaying on double speed in his mind.
Her eyes were wide, and for a second he saw years of terror in her eyes, like this had happened to her many a time.
Her face hardened, and now she was void of emotion.
“I-I’m sorry for your loss-“ His voice cracke...
“Hey… what’s that in the corner?” Heneri asked me, smirking with that goofy look on her face. I glanced over towards the offending corner, but immediately turned my gaze back to her, knowing, by all the fates, what would follow.
“Ha! Got you!” She laughed, as my eyes disappeared upwards in the freaky way I often did.
“You’re SO funny,” I countered, voice light with humor.
It was nice to be away ...
“I didn’t know Grandpa was a Nazi,” Adria snorts, holding up a wooden box.
“What?” Wren marvels, biting back a laugh. She drops the old journal she’s been reading and scrambles to Adria’s side.
Adria traces the Nazi symbol painted on the box, the old red paint flaking off. “I can’t believe he was a Nazi.”
Wren shoulders Adria and rips the box from her hands. “Open it up.” She unties the leather...
There are a few things you can do after you murder someone.
1. You can repent.
2. You can turn yourself in.
3. You can wash your hands of their blood and scrub your clothes until they’re clean.
Jonas chose the latter. He locked himself in the bathroom and forced himself to come to terms with what he had just done.
_Murder._
The word didn’t seem to accurately describe it.
He took a life. With ...
15 August 1947, how can I forget this day? Its the day that changed everything. The last time I saw the Hooded Figure. The first time the bag came to me. I knew this day would come for I was warned by the Hooded Figure. I wonder if rhe figure had a gender. I wonder if it ever had to deal with emotions. I wonder if those emotions had to do with another being. I remember every single detail of that ...
Me : I found it outside my door.
Hooded Figure: What! when?
Me: This Morning.
The Hooded Figure walks a little closer to the bag. He steps out of the shadows just enough onto the light for us to observe slight details of the figure. Some Mala’s hang from the neck. There seems to be some kind of weapon it hides behind in the shadows that it holds.
Hooded Figure : DId you open it?
Me: No, a...
His pressed the top lip onto his tongue and felt the lack of moisture depressing. He had been walking for longer than he dared to remember. At first, he was with company who he deemed tolerable. A tour group which was everything you could imagine of tourists. Cameras, chatting loudly and inconsiderately. Sun hats and big backpacks.
He decided to take the path less trodden and now those steps that...
As I feel my body drop, I remember a similiar time twenty years ago when I was seven.
I was a disobedient kid. That very day, my mother had warned me not to climb the tree in the backyard because it was too high, and I wouldn’t be able to get down. I took that as a personal challenge. As she began preparing dinner, I snuck out the back door and made my way to the tree.
Its bark was rough, peeli...