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Notes from a Crime Writer


There is nothing more daunting than a piece of blank paper staring at you.

The bell was ringing in an erratic rhythm.

My sister.

She staggers looking like a toddler who got lost in a sugar factory. Her expression is also akin to said toddler.Vacant. She looks at me, then decides I am a good person , pats my head and goes upstairs to crash on my bed.

I sit down to write again. Maybe I should write about drunk alcoholic sisters who have decided to live their life in stupor. I don’t drink. It makes me sad.

As a writer, lack of experience tends to be a hurdle. The blank paper is beginning to unnerve me.

It looked at me, willing me to mess with its virginity. Gripping the pen and forcing it on the paper, I wrote

She was drunk. Again.

The paper seemed to raise its eyebrows condescendly. It wasn’t impressed. I needed some time away from the paper.

So I decided it was time for research.

I don’t like going out. People are a lot of work. They have a horrible tendency to talk. And look at you. Thankfully, people take my hatred for humanity as eccentricity.

I looked at her, sleeping at an uncomfortable angle. Her body and mind numb.

I was contemplating how I’d describe it when her phone rang. I don’t have a phone. The device makes talking to people easier.

It stopped. Then started again. The screen said Mark. A man. Nope. I won’t pick it up. Men stare too much.

Probably not while on phone, my rational mind pointed out.

At the sixth ring, I realized I had to pick up. It seemed urgent.

“Hello” I grunted.

“I think I have killed Zon.” The disembodied voice delivered.

Interesting. I have never written a murder mystery.

“You want help?” I said what I thought was my charming voice.

“Yes, is that Gina?”

“No Gina is indisposed, but I’m her sister. I can hide bodies.” That was not very elegant, was it?

My interactions with the opposite sex have been known to make them quiver. Many have found the love of a good woman soon after a date with me. I hope it’s a coincidence.

But this male had other things on his mind. A body takes precedence over crazy strangers. Help is paramount when dealing with a murder.

I should write it down.

I got the mundane details of where the disembodied murderer was. Took my little book.

Took a tool kit. I’m not sure why. Seemed appropriate.

I reached the scene of the crime.Very gothic. Good old fashioned dim lighting. Nobody in sight.

I jotted down some notes. As I was cheerfully looking at the opening scene I had scribbled the murderer arrived.

Brown hair, brown eyes, etc. Don’t know what kind of smile because I think murderers don’t smile at the crime scene. Can give the wrong idea that they might be mad.

I was disappointed. Nothing menacing, no scars on his person. More work for me for character building.

Normally, I don’t know what to say in social situations.

I decided to forgo the awkward pleasantries. Went straight to the point.

“What happened?”

“It was an accident… we were fighting.”

Nothing interesting. Even more work for me. Motive should be exotic like espionage by an undercover prince and discovery by a commi.

Real life is very anticlimactic.

“So, you want to hide it or dispose of it?”

“What is the difference?”

I pursed my lips at the man’s ignorance.

“Either we find a good hiding place or we dissolve it in acid. I would espouse the second option. No trace, you understand.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Yes, but in a good way.”

He smiled. It was a good smile.

“Where will we get acid at midnight.”

“School.” I said promptly.

“How-why-what- lead the way.”

Breaking into a school is easy. I will make it more thrilling in the book. Possibly a top secret government laboratory.

We were spoilt for choice. We made a cocktail of acids and went back.

He took me to the body.

The body was gruesome. There was a red scar across his cheek. Eyes open and an expression of disbelief on his dark,exotic and handsome face.

I quickly got out my notebook.

The murderer looked scared for his safety. I found it funny.

“I’m a writer.”

“Sure.” He shrugged.

He might have thought I’m mad. Meh.

After I had got a satisfying description, we did the deed. Like two inept chemistry partners. I will skip the gory details. Will save them for the novel.

The adventure was at an end.

“Goodbye Emma”

I went home, to my sister who had was still sleeping off the intoxication. Only when I was back in my room that I realized I hadn’t told him my name.