Writing Prompt

“The knife belongs to me.”

The inspector turned from looking at the knife in the victim’s chest to see a tall man dressed in coat and tails. He even had a top hat and cane. Like he had just stepped out of a movie scene gala. He had a strange accent that the inspector could not place.

“And you would be?”

“My name is unimportant. Just know that the heirloom in that man’s chest is mine, but I did not kill him.”

The inspector grimaced. He was not sure what to think. The man in the tails had changed his accent.

Suddenly, laughter erupted in the room. The inspector was furious. “This is the scene of a murder! Nobody should be laughing.”

Suddenly, the body started to move. The dead victim was giggling.

The inspector lowered his head into his hand. He started to chuckle too.

A voice came from the distance. “Cut!” More chuckling could be heard.

The director came on the set. He tried to look furious, but the inspector knew better.

The director looked directly at the actor in tails, who had taken his hat off and was holding it in his hands. He was looking at the floor between them instead of meeting the director’s gaze. Then he looked up with puppy dog eyes. “Please sir, may I have another chance?”

The inspector chuckled at the third accent. He thought, “Charles Dickens would have been proud.”

The director threw up his hands and left the set. “That’s the last time I hire an actor who can do every accent, but can’t decide on one in one particular scene.”

The inspector and the dead victim shared a knowing look and another chuckle.

“The knife belongs to me!”I blurted, unable to contain my frustration in any longer we are all stuck on this little piece of land because of ME! But the worst part is they were treeting me like a princess and my crush like garbage but that all changed that day… January 4th 9:03 in the morning . All I could see is the BLACK DARK sea “I’m a monster” I said with terror in my eyes . All they said was well honey your NOG a monster but we are not going to put up with your SHIT no more go to sleep no maid will be drying your sleeping bag tonight do it yourself and with that I tried to fell asleep it was so icy out my bed froze it surprisingly smelt like flowers the red roses my mother used to sing me a song it was call red roses she made it up it went a little something like “ Red roses red roses the little pretty flowers red roses red roses I like the red roses there’s white ones there’s pink one there’s even pretty blue one but I like the red ones hahahahahaha, ha” I sang loud and proud everybody woke up the captain of the troup said that is a really awesome song could you sing it again? I sad sure I would love to so I sang it again and again and again until everybody until me and my crush were the only ones he said hi I say hey we both blushed it was getting really hot and awkward in that little spot

[So this is one of the last {It Was Me?} continuations, as I have no motivation to continue it and yah so]

“The knife belongs to me.” Jacob chuckles as he thinks about the knife his henchmen had discarded or so he thought they had….

Jacob decided to watch the news, an unlikely event.He thought it might be a good plan to find ideas from other murders. He decides to watch the police channel, his jaw drops when he sees that the police had found the weapon he used to stab Darren, one of the many things he used to torture him. Jacob thought about killing one of his henchmen, Mark. He though for a good while thinking of how to do it. He grabbed a knife and an axe. He told his other henchman(about 3 or 4 guys) to meet at the guy he planned to kill’s house.

He started driving, his body filled with rage. In his haste he had accidentally been speeding. He was pulled over. He tried to cover up the weapons but the officer forced him out of the car. He was arrested.

His henchman followed him to the station as they were nearby so they counted as witnesses.

They questioned Jacob many times, right before Jacob almost admitted…..

His most loyal henchman spoke up, he said “The knife was mine!” A lie, showing how loyal he is.

[The other bits are called {It Was Me?}, {Questioning} and {The body}]

“The knife belongs to me,” she gasps aloud, her throat closing as her eyes roll in death.

The blade is in her stomach, blood like cranberry runs from her stab wound, more oozes from her mouth. She blinks hard, her mouth agape. Something pierces my back, sharp and cold against my warm flesh.

She grins wickedly, twisting the blade in my back. A scream escapes my lips, I twist over her and she slumps. Together, we bleed matching puddles that meet in the middle.

“I love you,” she whispers to me quietly. “I love you most,” I reply as we meet Death.

The knife belongs to me The one that’s been placed Oh so strategically Straight through my chest Right through my spine Only it’s really not mine You drove it in deeper You pushed it straight through But what did I do? I took responsibility Because I believed in you In your lies And now Now you can’t even look me in my eyes It’s really a shame How I would have done anything What a foolish thing Since you didn’t mean anything Anything you said Anything you did You just took me for granted Took everything I gave you With every intention Of shoving the knife further on through Broken But I stopped the bleeding Intentions are always deceiving

“The knife belongs to me.” I glare at him and stand up. “I’ve spilt my own blood on this knife. It’s mine.”

He looks at me with a mix of confusion, terror, surprise, and more confusion in his bright blue eyes. He reaches his hand to it and I grip his hand, stopping him from even brushing the knife with his fingertips. His face turns pale and I think I might’ve broken his fingers.

Good. He deserves it.

“It’s my knife!” He yells, obviously extremely angry. Still confused though.

I roll my eyes. “Bitch you stabbed me, it belongs to me now.”

“How are you not dead?!”

“Uhh… that is a good question.”

“The knife belongs to me…” I trailed off, stuck in a deep depression of my own making.

“What are you talking about?” Annalise asked.

“The knife belongs to me… it all makes sense now. The one that’s burrowed through my chest. The one that aches with every breath.”

“I’m not following Betty.” She looked at me quizzically. Like I was crazy. If she only knew my mind.

“I have loved him for as long as I can remember. But my mental health left me spiraling the whole time, I made careless mistakes.”

“Okay?”

“Therefore, the knife is mine, I did this to me. Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy.”

“The knife belongs to me,” I raised my voice to state clearly. The clashing voices echoing throughout the glorious ballroom all came to an abrupt lull, everyone’s enraged eyes falling to bask down on me. The hard sole of my chestnut suede oxfords struck the light birch flooring, the shaken crowd before me clearing a direct path across the room from my location.

“Good, you all know your place. If any of you move so much as an inch toward that table, I’ll put you into the wall before you come close enough to see the spark of the blade,” not a moment after the threat was issued, my first volunteer stepped forward. The woman was only but four inches shorter than me, around five-eight, yet she crept behind me like a small fox, attempting to flip me over, clearly hoping to put me on the floor. When she swept her right leg out, taking my strength for granted, in an attempt to wrap it beneath me, I gripped her off-guard arm and pulled her across my shoulder. As she squirmed in my hands, attempting to free herself of my grasp, I threw her doll-like body in the direction of the onlooking crowd, a threat to whoever was plotting the next attempt. The limp competitor struck the wall as her fellow partygoers attempted to avoid her falling frame, now a dejected pile on the floor.

“Now, once again. The knife. It’s mine,” as the words slipped from my lips, my hand clenched around the handle of the blade, sending excruciating jolts of electricity throughout my now trembling physique. A single severed howl ripped from my throat as the power of the Charging Blade’s hold finalized, leaving my hand charred where the handle rested.

The knife belongs to me I stabbed myself in the back For looking back On what I lack

For tomorrows sake I’ll lie in wake As I’m paralyzed And carbonized

The gun It’s how it’s hung I’m sorry this is how it had to be

I kick the chair No right to repair

The knife belongs to me How could I let you see That’s all you’ve made me out to be The shadow of the victim

You deserved it all along The pain you wrote in song The narccistic periodic bitch You tried to be You lied to me

Let the shadow shift

Forever I’ll be What you made me out to be The partner that let the cat out of the bag

I won’t be quiet He deserved it all Crocodile tears are starting to show Let it go and stick to the status quo

How could you make yourself out to be the victim The real one who’s hurt While you’re the killer The one who you tried to overt

When the door is shut there is no way out Trapped inside there is no way out Stuck with the lies you tried to hide You know it too, there is now way out

“The knife belongs to me.” The voice was deep, calm on the outside, but she could feel the tension in it, hear the edge in his words, sea the tightness of his lips. “I didn’t mean …” “Drop it.” “I …” “Stop it. I mean it.” The man in front of her was not the one she knew before. He was stoic, a dark expression on his face, muscle tensed. She put the knife back on the table, almost ashamed without knowing what she had done or why this was his reaction. “Now scoot.” “You don’t say anything else? You don’t explain? You just…” “Scoot. Now.” Emma looked at him, not recognising the man, the almost brother she had known all her life. She started to leave his room. “And Emma?” She turned, hopeful for an explanation. “Yes?” “You don’t belong here. Stop to try too much.” Ouch. She closed the door, barely holding her head high. Barely holding her tears in.