Picture 2
Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 1
Title: Ramblings From a Macabre Mind
I couldn’t stand the way John kept tapping my head as he walked passed with his pen.
“Use your head,” he’d say. “Gotta reach those targets.” Or “Exercise your brain, don’t want a walnut rattling around in there.” Again with the tapping.
I hated him.
So I used my head. Exercised my brain.
Funny what you can come up with when you put your mind to it. John was right on that score. I expected his brain to be different to mine, some supersized brain swollen with ideas, but it looked like most pictures I’d seen, at least the bits hanging off the end of claw hammer did . . .
As well as laziness, I suffered an overactive imagination. Suffered wasn’t strictly true. I loved what my (sometimes warped) mind came up with. I was always conjuring up new and wonderfully gory ways to do John in. He was that kind of person. But that’s all it was, imagination which I wrote down. One day, my dream to write for a living would happen. But until then, I would suffer John’s idea that my head was a drum.
My ideas even spawned a game, over lunch where we would all come up with John’s gruesome and often bloody demise. But I won; every time. It was the way I delivered it where they could hear the skull crack, feel the blood splatter and see the stoved in head where flesh and bone used to be. It was my gift. Words.
Until I had none. No one uttered a word; the effect of shock did that when someone you knew had been brutally murdered as he slept soundly. John. Words escaped my muddled mind, disappearing into the ether as the news sunk in.
But I wasn’t silent at my arrest. Profanities flew wildly like birds in a storm. My notebooks were thrust in front of me as evidence. My colleagues witnesses to my thoughts because I foolishly paraded my talent.
But my alibi, my sweet, sweet alibi, Cassandra, who I’d only been seeing for a month, was there to meet me when the police had to accept my innocence, accept my notes and stories as nothing but the ramblings from a macabre mind.
And that was the perfect murder. The office weirdo, the lazy but creative one. The one who did take the hammer to John’s soft flesh after shattering his skull into fragments, just as I had written. The one who started dating Cassandra purposely as an alibi; plied with alcohol and a sneaky sleeping tablet, she was oblivious to my absence. I’d tried and tested it, planting the idea in her bubble head that she always forgot what we got up to and then slept like the dead because she couldn’t handle her drink.
I’m still with Cassandra. One never knows when one may need to rid the world of annoying people like John. And my ideas are growing.
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I dream of sharing my work with the big wide world one day as a published author. Right now, I share flash fiction with a wonderful community of writers and friends. If you liked this story, then why not visit my blog at http://40somethingundomesticateddevil.blogspot.co.uk/ for more. Thank you. Love Lizzie x
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