My eldest offspring gave me a book of writing prompts for Christmas last year. I haven’t used it much, but since I seem to have hit a bit of a dry spot on my stories dealing with Tole, I figured I’d take a shot. I flipped to a random page and found the prompt “a writer with noisy neighbors.” This is what my somewhat off-center brain came up with. I worry about me. – T
In his twenty odd years as a homicide investigator Detective Robert Johns had never thrown up at a crime scene. This morning that streak came to an end. The sheer violence and unabashed animal rage that would have been required to do those things to another human being, let alone two, touched some primal part of his brain that would not be ignored. Luckily all he’d had in his stomach was the stale coffee he drank when he had come on shift that morning, so there wasn’t much to purge.
The case, however, will be an easy one to solve. All the he had to do was follow the trail of blood and shit to the door of the apartment across the hall. Inside they found the lone resident sitting at his computer typing away with a look of serenity that was broken by the fact that he was covered in blood and bits of his victims from across the hall.
When the killer noticed the detective standing in his doorway, he turned to and said, “Can you hear that? It’s finally quiet. Maybe now I’ll get some work done on this book before my deadline passes.”
Then he turned back to his computer and resumed typing.