Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 1, 2015

The murder scene . . a snippet of a crime story I’m toying with.

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:01 pm

The sweat in the room was heavy enough to soak through his shirt, a smell that he didn’t recognise, but didn’t need an educated guess as to what it was. He thought it was strange how he had never smelt death before, but he knew that’s what it was that caused the aroma that clung to the walls. Knowing that once he left the room, the smell would cling to his jacket, similar to how cigarettes do. What he was about to see would also cling to him, an attachment that couldn’t be removed at 40 degrees.
The beautiful shaggy grey carpet on the bedroom floor would never be the same, Charlie loved the feel of it on his bare feet in the morning. It was expensive, after feeling it between his toes for the first time, he knew it was well worth the money, it had become part of his wake up ritual. The blood was thick and had matted parts of the carpet, it was ruined, once it was cleaned Charlie would still know it had once been there. This blood should still be under her skin, in her veins. This blood had once pumped round every inch of her beautiful body, the blood that had kept her alive was now split, like unwanted wine. She was placed on the floor at the end of the bed, take away the bruises, the blood, and her lifeless body held a pose. Her left leg bent with her foot tucked under her right knee, her toe nails painted in her obsessive manner. Her little black dress had been pulled up to sit at her navel and her underwear torn, nothing covered up to hide the truth. Her left arm down by her side, her right lay across her chest, for a moment Charlie pictured her trying to defend herself. Red sore abrasions on both wrists stood out on her pale skin, finger nails painted to match her toe nails. Her long hair lay to rest across her face and neck, but not enough to cover up the incision on her neck, her skin looked so pale against the bloody wound. Her body looked cold, distant, dead. Her eyes were still open and blood shot, bulging with fear and pain. Seeing all this devastation in the room that the two of them had shared so much love took Charlie’s breath, causing panic, it was the look in her eyes that caused him to freeze, he couldn’t look away, mesmerized. He’d watched enough television to know that touching anything would be a bad idea, the temptation to pick her up, make her comfortable, it was hard to bare. Alarm bells ringing in his head to phone the police, but all his body was willing to do was drop to his knees, a single tear formed in his eye whilst his chin started to quiver.

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