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Much To Her Annoyance
#WritcoStoryPrompt43
The scandal could ring the death of his career. The naked woman in his bed lay with unseeing eyes staring at him. He stood over her with a knife in his hand and no memory of who she was or why he had killed her...
This had all started somewhere out in the desert, just north of Raton. The deserts there ware never forgiving and often fatal but people often lived long and fruitful lives without ever encountering death. Since this had all begun he just couldn't seem to stay away from it but he could half understand that with all the karma he had amassed through the evil he had done throughout his life, hanging heavy and incalculable in it's weighty reckoning over his life.
The whole thing began; as many often do, with a deal that could not be passed up. The buy-in had been a low figure with a sure and lucrative pay off but then it had quickly escalated, as most of these scams do.
His entire life he had heard about real estate scams and how easily it was to be suckered in but he had thought that if he paid close enough attention that he could avoid the pitfalls in this one and there was no way that the boss would lie to him or be taken in, was there?. He had also thought his colleagues and his career could save him in the end as he entered into the business agreement with the criminals, the facts being out in the open for all to see.
He had somehow believed that he was the paragon of virtue, a law enforcement officer and along with the others they could get the good out of a bad situation.
Standing with the instrument of death presently in his hand, his mind coming out of the fog from whatever hallucinogens they had dosed him with, he could hardly say that he had made a success of things.
His mind began to break back to reality and try and conclude and deduce the purpose and facts of the scene. The hair on his neck stood up and is ears perked at the sound of sirens floating through the years old decrepit and roofless house's cracked and falling adobe exterior and interior. His skin tingled and with realization as he suddenly saw that he was basically outdoors and not in his own home. He glanced out the now decrepit and crumbling window and thought for a moment he could almost tell where he was but in these badlands everything looked the same.
The one thing that he knew was that he was as naked as the victim on the rusted and trashed bed in the corner of of the centuries-old dirt shack. All this precluded any chance of survival he might have in the desert at night, much less whenever the sun rose and he had no idea what time it was. His body shiverer uncontrollably as he realized that he actually did have shearling lined house shoes on.
Escape wasn't an option, however he knew that whenever the others arrived that there would be no questions or justifications, just a cold cell for a very long time, maybe forever. With absolutely no options or facts to go on in the moment, he thought of dragging the knife across his own wrists and then realized that it was little more than a butter knife and the victim on the floor was actually toasted bread, the blood that was everywhere was strawberry preserves, but who was the headless victim?
He swore again; for the millionth time that night, week and month, that he would never let anyone talk him into a hallucinogenic mushrooms again. He began to realize he did actually know the location of that house and remembered the victim that had been found laying on the old bed as it occurred to him that they never found the culprit to pay for the sin. It was deep, reaident within his subconscious mind like so much and so many others. There had been, were and likely would be quite a few others. He absent-mindedly thought that he might be able to explore the finer aspects of the scenes with the advanced perceptive value that the hallucinogens had given him.
"Could you please make my toast for me? I'm pretty sure that I have some in my ear." He readily and freely emplored her for her help, never one to be too proud to go to her for help.
"Meow." was all that the cat said as she stopped cleaning and started to eat his toast, already having had taken several bites of preferring it to the bread. He realized that she, like he, was covered with strawberry preserves, again.
He had to stop doing this sort of thing.
The scandal could ring the death of his career. The naked woman in his bed lay with unseeing eyes staring at him. He stood over her with a knife in his hand and no memory of who she was or why he had killed her...
This had all started somewhere out in the desert, just north of Raton. The deserts there ware never forgiving and often fatal but people often lived long and fruitful lives without ever encountering death. Since this had all begun he just couldn't seem to stay away from it but he could half understand that with all the karma he had amassed through the evil he had done throughout his life, hanging heavy and incalculable in it's weighty reckoning over his life.
The whole thing began; as many often do, with a deal that could not be passed up. The buy-in had been a low figure with a sure and lucrative pay off but then it had quickly escalated, as most of these scams do.
His entire life he had heard about real estate scams and how easily it was to be suckered in but he had thought that if he paid close enough attention that he could avoid the pitfalls in this one and there was no way that the boss would lie to him or be taken in, was there?. He had also thought his colleagues and his career could save him in the end as he entered into the business agreement with the criminals, the facts being out in the open for all to see.
He had somehow believed that he was the paragon of virtue, a law enforcement officer and along with the others they could get the good out of a bad situation.
Standing with the instrument of death presently in his hand, his mind coming out of the fog from whatever hallucinogens they had dosed him with, he could hardly say that he had made a success of things.
His mind began to break back to reality and try and conclude and deduce the purpose and facts of the scene. The hair on his neck stood up and is ears perked at the sound of sirens floating through the years old decrepit and roofless house's cracked and falling adobe exterior and interior. His skin tingled and with realization as he suddenly saw that he was basically outdoors and not in his own home. He glanced out the now decrepit and crumbling window and thought for a moment he could almost tell where he was but in these badlands everything looked the same.
The one thing that he knew was that he was as naked as the victim on the rusted and trashed bed in the corner of of the centuries-old dirt shack. All this precluded any chance of survival he might have in the desert at night, much less whenever the sun rose and he had no idea what time it was. His body shiverer uncontrollably as he realized that he actually did have shearling lined house shoes on.
Escape wasn't an option, however he knew that whenever the others arrived that there would be no questions or justifications, just a cold cell for a very long time, maybe forever. With absolutely no options or facts to go on in the moment, he thought of dragging the knife across his own wrists and then realized that it was little more than a butter knife and the victim on the floor was actually toasted bread, the blood that was everywhere was strawberry preserves, but who was the headless victim?
He swore again; for the millionth time that night, week and month, that he would never let anyone talk him into a hallucinogenic mushrooms again. He began to realize he did actually know the location of that house and remembered the victim that had been found laying on the old bed as it occurred to him that they never found the culprit to pay for the sin. It was deep, reaident within his subconscious mind like so much and so many others. There had been, were and likely would be quite a few others. He absent-mindedly thought that he might be able to explore the finer aspects of the scenes with the advanced perceptive value that the hallucinogens had given him.
"Could you please make my toast for me? I'm pretty sure that I have some in my ear." He readily and freely emplored her for her help, never one to be too proud to go to her for help.
"Meow." was all that the cat said as she stopped cleaning and started to eat his toast, already having had taken several bites of preferring it to the bread. He realized that she, like he, was covered with strawberry preserves, again.
He had to stop doing this sort of thing.
