All posts tagged: murder

Lost: One Bench #Throwback Thursday

‘How can you forget where you left it?’ Samantha demanded, shooting Michael a withering look before closing her eyes and counting to ten. In a moment she would let out a deep sighing breath and give Michael her best, why do you insist on embarrassing me stare before ordering another drink from the bar and forgetting the subject altogether. 1,2,3,4- ‘I mean really Michael!’ Michael blinked, confused as to where the last 6 seconds had gone and why she hadn’t ordered a large glass of red wine. She wasn’t following the natural order. ‘It’s a bench!’ Samantha spluttered. ‘You cannot misplace a bench! Especially not one of yours! They’re massive and made of wood. WOOD MICHAEL! WOOD!’ Everyone else in the pub had fallen silent now, the hum of conversation dying as all eyes turned to stare at the couple having the argument. Or rather, Samantha yelling at her bemused husband since Michael rarely said two words to anyone about anything. ‘I could understand a nail or two, perhaps even your level metre, but misplacing …

NaPoWriMo – Day Fifteen: Bluebeard’s Wife

It was not cold enough to keep her whole when Spring sprung anew to curdle her soul, so he wept just like the castle walls as they shed their sorrows at the thaw and the ice around her heart did melt as much as any love she’d ever felt when confronted with his face and gait so apposed to the words he’d carefully placed in letters crafted on cold summer nights in rooms empty of laughter, or of life. Now she lay among her sisters past, flowers sullied, bloomed all too fast, victim to the warming months where little for her condition could be done except to watch her cheeks give way, her skeleton to rise beneath layers of decay, and press his lips to white of her throat when all that remained was spinal column and bone. I might have gone a little off target with today’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “writing a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation and is revealed to be human (but still evil)”. I’m not sure I managed …

Watching Them Dig My Grave

It could have been worse I suppose. I could have been alive when they put me in the ground, but I was dead thank God, because the whole thing would have had me spinning in my too narrow, too shallow grave. Metaphorically of course. I had hoped for a spectacular death or a quiet one. An ending that became the warped framework of urban legend or left people saying: “At least she went peacefully.” Neither of these scenarios ended up fitting with my actual death. I got pathetic, depressing end. Dazed with a blow from the cat’s litter tray and strangled with a faulty phone charger. Not a death to really brag about. There was no great, white light. No tunnel or long lost loved ones. Just the grotty ceiling tiles of my rented kitchen, and the realisation that the mould above the oven was back.My murderers were panicking; two less than athletic men with women’s tights as masks. Clearly new to the criminal game they stood bickering in the doorway. Clearly they had never …

Ismae and Michael

“And where have you been?” spat Ismae, throwing her hair back over one shoulder as she spun to face Michael. He slumped against the doorway, one hand covering the gaping wound beneath his ribs. “I-” He gasped, coughed and dribbled blood down his chin. “She got the jump on me.” he rasped, sinking towards the cabin floor as he spoke. Ismae titled her head to one side and looked at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “She got the jump on you?” she said, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth after the last word. “One little rich girl manage to get the jump on you?” She shook her head, blond hair spraying our behind her. “I don’t believe it.” she said, leaning back against her desk. “I would have thought you had at least enough sense not to fall for her tricks.” Michael took three hacking breaths and fell silent. “You have really disappointed me Michael.” Ismae sighed. “After all we’ve been through; I would have thought that you could have at …

HELP NEEDED!

Prologue Tara had watched her father smile as he tore the heart out of the King of Dondara’s chest. It had not been the first act of complete brutality she had seen, her father’s campaign had been saturated by similar murders and executions. Something had terrified her though, something in the old King’s eyes in the moment before Forbeath ended his life. He had looked at the eight year old girl standing in the doorway to the throne room, recognised her, and offered her pity. Afterwards her father had the body taken away to be burned, leaving strict instructions that the blood was to be left to dry. No one questioned the new King as he picked up his daughter, streaking her face with blood as he pushed her hair away from her face. It had been blonde then, the same colour as her mothers, but he made her dye it later on. He couldn’t stand to be reminded of his wife. “That is how you get what you want in this world Tara.” He’d …