On the Third Day of Christmas
Dec. 27th, 2005 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
franceslievensPrevious parts
Could it get any worse? First she got heaps of accusing looks for knowing the necklace, but not the girl attached to it and now they had assigned the job of taking her statement to the worst constable ever. He was as slow as a sick turtle and frequently interrupted her in what probably was her fifth rendition of the facts. How she had bought the plain silver necklace and had walked the streets of the city wearing it. How suddenly it all meant shit and she had thrown the necklace away. Later, she returned in her steps, picked it up again and gave it to the first woman that crossed her path. It was a whore who muttered “Merry Christmas” after having put the necklace on. It clashed with her jacket in panther-print.
“Why do you give such precious jewelry away?” the constable wanted to know. She felt like crying. Again and again, she had answered that question this morning. Every time she'd said something different, because none of the police officers was happy with her explanation of love and heartbreak and loneliness. The words never came out the way they should, the way she felt it. So she stayed silent and instead threw him a look of anger that could kill. The constable said something about typing up the report and her having to wait to sign the thing, and disappeared to another desk.
She waited and stared into space. It felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes all looked at her, all equally accusing. She turned around and noticed just the one pair fixed on her back. It belonged to a fat guy, sitting on a bench a couple of meters behind her. He smiled and waved when he noticed her looking at him. Disgusted she turned round again. “Why is it I always seem to attract the crazy ones?” she wondered.
Could it get any worse? First she got heaps of accusing looks for knowing the necklace, but not the girl attached to it and now they had assigned the job of taking her statement to the worst constable ever. He was as slow as a sick turtle and frequently interrupted her in what probably was her fifth rendition of the facts. How she had bought the plain silver necklace and had walked the streets of the city wearing it. How suddenly it all meant shit and she had thrown the necklace away. Later, she returned in her steps, picked it up again and gave it to the first woman that crossed her path. It was a whore who muttered “Merry Christmas” after having put the necklace on. It clashed with her jacket in panther-print.
“Why do you give such precious jewelry away?” the constable wanted to know. She felt like crying. Again and again, she had answered that question this morning. Every time she'd said something different, because none of the police officers was happy with her explanation of love and heartbreak and loneliness. The words never came out the way they should, the way she felt it. So she stayed silent and instead threw him a look of anger that could kill. The constable said something about typing up the report and her having to wait to sign the thing, and disappeared to another desk.
She waited and stared into space. It felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes all looked at her, all equally accusing. She turned around and noticed just the one pair fixed on her back. It belonged to a fat guy, sitting on a bench a couple of meters behind her. He smiled and waved when he noticed her looking at him. Disgusted she turned round again. “Why is it I always seem to attract the crazy ones?” she wondered.
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 04:43 am (UTC)I do admit I've got lot of trouble killing characters. Or I let them hang in there and they survive or they die a horrible death in the very first scene of the story. I probably don't want to make myself cry. :-)
Thanks for reading, baby. It's always a bit exciting when I put these things online. I never know if someone will actually like it.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 03:17 pm (UTC)I hope you enjoy reading, luv.
*smoochies*
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Date: 2005-12-27 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-28 02:39 am (UTC)I think Chani reads too many crime novels and knows the possible plot twists too well. *g*
Thanks for reading.
Next installment will follow this evening CET.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-28 05:21 am (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-28 09:45 am (UTC)