April 20th, 2010

Murder

You know, I finally remembered what I was going to write down. I just kept forgetting, just kept getting sidetracked, just kept getting swept up by my life. But it’s all okay. Everything turns out okay in the end eventually. We just gotta play the long con. Doesn’t matter.

Regardless, I finally get a chance to fully put my pen to paper. I saw a murder. Now, I’m not going to murder anybody, nor is this a confession. I just have this idea for perhaps a short story, a painting, something that I just have to go through with. You following me? I’m not a murderer.

8 AM - A girl (20?) and a boy (20?) are laying together in a dingy Manhattan apartment. They’re talking about something, or perhaps sweet nothings. The girl starts crying as the boy gets up and pulls out a Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver. The bed is covered in a sheet of plastic. The boy holds the gun. He is shaking. The girl, still crying, guides his hand so that he would shoot her in the eye. She smiles. The boy jerks back as he begins to shoot, accidentally shooting her in the leg instead. She shrieks. The boy does not have another bullet.

2 PM - The girl fully bleeds out. The boy sneaks her body out in a suitcase. He begins driving from New York to Michigan, with her body in the trunk of his Mustang.

Two days pass. The boy has been sleeping in the backseat of his car in order to minimize his chances of being found out.

7 PM - The boy drives to a swamp. He takes the body out. Rigor mortis has already set in, but her face is peaceful. He dumps her into the swamp and drives away. The boy’s placid expression never changed.

Four years pass.

9 AM - The body is found in a bog several states away from where she lived, still intact. Waterlogging washed away any evidence, save for a bullet in the left leg.

A couple of days pass.

7 PM - An autopsy reveals no sign of struggle. Evidence is inconclusive.

The girl has no family to speak of.

The boy was never suspected.