Tag: implied murder

Out of Focus

~ annemcsommers ~ 8 Comments

Hello Hello, the word of the week was blur and it got really weird.  The word blur was used for something moving to fast to see, and this week is horror, with all the blood, gore, and implied murder that I could pack into six sentences.  Don’t read if you are squeamish, and if you aren’t. then join our poor narrator, witness to something unspeakable. Really, it’s never spoken.

It was moving too fast for me to keep my eyes on it, and trying was starting to make me dizzy, or maybe that was the blood loss.

It was like a blur, moving in and out so fast I couldn’t focus on it, and when it stopped long enough for me to see, the carnage beneath it made me look away.

I was never one to have a weak stomach, but I had never seen so much of what should be on the inside spread in pieces across a white tile floor, and if I hadn’t been able to smell the copper thick on the air,  I would have thought I was looking at some bizarre modern art piece.

I knew that I was going to die, no one was going to survive this, and I should have fought it, rallied for life, but there was no way to forget this kind of horror, and there came a point where I knew that death would be a mercy, at escape from a life of trauma.

I wasn’t so lucky though, because that’s when the sirens rang in, loud and clanging, lights flashing blue and red, making the scene surreal in the ever-changing light through the window.

It ran, and I survived, not lived, survived, because I was missing too many pieces to enjoy my existence, every hour awake was pure agony, and yet it was the only respite I got from the abomination that haunted my dreams until the day I finally died.

Advertisement

Cleaning House

~ annemcsommers ~ 5 Comments

Hello Hello, the word of the week is Mess, and this week I am using it in the cleaning up a mess sense of the word.  Follow the story of Heidi, who hates the smell of bleach, and is cleaning up someone else’s mess.  There is a lot implied here, but not much said outright, so I suspect triggers are off the table this week, but let me know if I am wrong. Thanks. Also this is in thiller/horror because while it is not suspenseful, it has that creepy vibe

The smell of bleach was so thick in the air that she could almost taste it, as it burned it’s way down her throat with every breath she took.

This was the part of cleaning that Heidi hated the most, the smell of it, and while every bit of her hurt from two hours on her hand and knees scrubbing the floor, it was taste in her mouth that made her angry.

This wasn’t her mess, she shouldn’t have to be the one the clean it up, but if Olga had the kind of control that was needed to do clean-up, there wouldn’t be a mess to clean up in the first place.

It should have been their mother here doing this, after all it was her decision to let Olga out, even though Heidi had begged her not to, and less than two days later here she was on her knees trying to scrub every bit of evidence from the grout on the kitchen floor.

It wasn’t perfect, this much bleach would let anyone with a nose know that something had happened here, and that alone would bring suspicion upon them, but there would be no forensic evidence to tie to them to it, not if she could help it.

Heidi had liked it here, had liked being Heidi, but that was over now, as once things settled, they would be moving on, lest they be suspects when the next missing happened, and she longed for the day they got to stay somewhere long enough to call it her home.

Those Post Christmas Blues…

~ annemcsommers ~ Leave a comment

This week’s response to the picture prompt on the Writer’s Mess, ended up being a follow up to last weeks rather disturbing story.  It works as a stand alone, but this is what happens the day after Christmas, that little letdown that follows the holidays for some of us, but obviously not for all the same reasons.

The crackling fire that had warmed his heart before Christmas day, now gave him a chill of emptiness. It reminded him of how good the holidays had been this year, and now it was over. It would be eleven months before he felt that way again, and it made him sad.

He thought of his love, the way the red had brought out the green of her eyes, and how he would never see them again. Yesterday was their last day together, and now it was all about the clean up.  The tree, the decorations, the blood, all of it would have to taken away, without the comfort of knowing someone was waiting for him when he was done.

He would stay at the cabin till new years, like he always did, watching the clock count down to midnight alone, and another year start as barren as this one had.  He would go back to his place in the city, to his job, his coworkers, and make resolutions that would be forgotten in a  month.

The days would bleed into one another, an endless blur of projects, deadline, and paychecks that didn’t really mean anything at all, not to him.  He sighed as he thought about it, feeling tired, and heavy with the realization of what laid ahead of him.

Oh well, there would always be next Christmas.

The Missing Minute

~ annemcsommers ~ 9 Comments

The word of the week for the six-sentence story prompt is SPACE, and while my first thought was the final frontier, thank you Star Trek for that brainwashing,  I decided instead to go with a space as in an absence of something, in this case a memory of a single minute of time.

Most of the time a minute was just a minute, meaningless without the minutes that surrounded it, and then there was this minute.

This one minute of her life where there was nothing, a blank space where the memory should have been, preceded by the minutes of fighting, and followed by the minutes of far too much blood.

She was still in shock when she was taken into custody, her lawyer showing based on the news rather than a call, and she barely registered his outrage as he spoke with the police, getting her released as no charges were being filed.

She was arrested again days later, then out on bail, living as a yoyo, flitting in and out of prison, until a trial that would determine where the yo-yo ended its travels.

There were police, psychiatrists, experts, and witnesses, all paraded in and out of the court room, but In the end the facts weren’t clear, as despite the party being in full swing, no one saw who fired the fatal shot at a victim everyone had motive to want dead.

She wished that she could appreciate the reading of the verdict, revel in the not-guilty finding, but there was a minute of her life where there was only blank space, and so she would have to live the rest of her life never knowing the truth of the question, had she done it?