Frankly, I needed an excuse. And The Writer’s Community of Your Region gave it to me. Thanks for that.
This isn’t officially NaNoWriMo. That’s a form of insanity. This is an inspiration.
With that having been said, I hereby promise to post at least 500 words before the end of each day for the entirety of June 2017. So help me God. And , by that same token, may God have mercy on my soul.
This also represents my first post in about two years. And, in the spirit of fair play, these don’t count towards my 500 words. However, that doesn’t stop me using notes I wrote almost seven months ago to kick start what I want to write about.
The killer awoke before dawn. He could smell coffee brewing. He threw back the sheets, got out of bed, walked downstairs, following the scent.
He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and debated if he shouldn’t add cream and sugar
“No,” he thought. “You haven’t earned your reward. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He sipped his coffee, turned to face the window and looked for a distraction.
A summer of punishing heat turned his lawn into a miniature, well trimmed, hay field. He wondered if he couldn’t have hired a goat or two from a local farmer. Goats shit little, spherical turds. He never had smelled goat shit before and wondered if it did smell at all. Did it act as a good fertilizer? He made a mental note to check it out the next time he needed a distraction.
Goats might be a good idea but an original one. He could solve the problem by installing an in ground sprinkler system that operated on a timer. He could feel the silent judgement of neighbours when he watered the lawn during daylight hours.
But today would be a good day. This fall season had been rainy and today was no exception. In his mind’s eye, he saw a yard of lush green grass. He could imagine how it would feel to walk barefoot across it. He closed his eyes and smiled.
“Distraction complete,” he thought and sipped his coffee in triumph.
His yard faced a two story basement walk out. Its kitchen opened to a deck that had a tasteful expertise. Through the window, the killer could see his neighbour preparing something at the counter.
The killer made eye contact, raised his mug in salute. His neighbour looked away quickly after raising his hand in acknowledgement.
Had something gone wrong? Had he slipped? Let something get away? Contingency plans came to mind – the thought of executing them exciting him a little – but he didn’t want to follow through.
He could be happy here so long as he remained careful. Had he not been careful?
“You’re a fool,” he thought. “An over reacting fool that has no faith in himself. Get it together, man.”
He stepped away from the window and into something hot and wet.
“Goddamnit,” he said and looked down to see he stepped in a puddle of coffee. And then he laughed.
He was naked. The neighbour, seeing his semi tumescent cock standing at morning attention, as if waiting for drill instructions, had looked away out of embarrassment.
The killer wanted to catch the neighbour’s eyes again, pantomime some kind of apology, but he was gone. The need to explain himself welled up inside. He added to his list of mental notes to speak to his neighbour before the end of the week. That calmed him down a little.
He closed the blinds and cleaned up his mess.
“Enough bullshit,” he thought. “We’ve got work to do.”
That was true. Rainy fall days were great for hunting. He wanted to bag at least one kid before the sun went down.