The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles.
The aim of the words is to encourage us to write, a story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words are supplied by Cindi and can be found here.
This week's words are:
here is my story:
The murder scene resembled a slaughterhouse, one of the older style ones, before hoses and drains became commonplace in such places. Blood pooled on most of the floor and splattered the walls clear up to the ceiling, with a few drops hanging from the ceiling fan. This had been a violent act indeed. The small window separating the room from the laboratory next door was smeared as if someone had swiped a bloody hand across the glass. A streak along the floor under that window and stretching to an outer door indicated the killer had dragged the bodies that way.
Officer Landry shone his torch along the doorjamb until he found a light switch, he flicked it on and wasn't at all surprised to find there was no electricity. It followed the killer's pattern of cutting all wires leading into the building. He either knew his way around the building, or used some type of infra red lamp, perhaps night vision goggles, to find his victims. He radioed the team waiting outside to search the perimeter for the painted-in-blood kiss and the tape recorder with a maniacal laugh that this horrific offender always left behind.
Always just a generic available-anywhere type of recorder, no fingerprints, no speech, just the laugh. They couldn't get any voice recognition from that. Officer Landry's grief at yet more good citizens meeting this terrible fate shook him to his core. Somewhere, sometime, this murderer would make a mistake, drop something, leave a footprint or fingerprint and then there would be some way to track him down.
He wondered what sensations the killer felt each time he did this. Did he find amusement in being 'smarter' than his victims? Did he suffer melancholy when coming down from such a 'high'? Did he then drop into a ravine of deep depression that could only be relieved by another kill?
The general consensus of his team was they needed to catch this man and the sooner the better. A sudden tiny noise caused Officer Landry to hold up his hand and shush the team. A soft knocking came from inside the darkened laboratory beyond the blood soaked room. Officer Landry eased open the door with his latex-gloved hand and listened for a moment. "Is anybody in here?" he said quietly. More soft knocking led him to a cabinet under the sink, where a laboratory assistant was hiding.
The poor young fellow had wet his pants with fear and cried all the way to the police station. He continued to shake violently even after being wrapped in a warm blanket and given a cup of hot coffee. He wasn't on the roster for tonight, had stopped in hoping for a few extra hours to help cover his rent.
"That's probably the only reason you're still alive," said Officer Landry. This killer usually knows exactly how many people are in whichever building he's targeted. "We may have just caught the break we need, thanks to you."
A Hot Friday Night in The Pony's Apartment
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