Archive for rage

Premonition

Posted in Stories with tags , , , , on July 21, 2012 by Yemi

Hello, welcome back to DAY 5 OF POST-A-DAY-AS-LONG-AS-I-HAVE-INTERNET.

@weird_oo will be gracing us today with her talent. I read a story about a winchy!! house help she wrote after the story ended, music started playing on my system from nowhere couldn’t even find the source……  That’s weird oh, I tell you. I had to shut down the computer……. True story not a cool one at all…….. Here’s today’s story, ENJOY.

He would wake up with no memories of the night before.

What is he doing in this strange apartment? And most especially, why is there a dead naked woman sleeping next to him on the bed?

How does he know she is dead?

There is a smiley on her throat. A dark red smiley that says ‘Hey! I just had my throat cut!’

He would yelp in surprise and jump out of bed. He would look down at himself and see blood stains on the blue jeans and blue collared shirt. He would look around and see a knife anointed with blood lying carelessly on the floor. He would assume the worst.

He would assume he was the killer.

He is a killer.

With shock he would look for the rest room in the house. He would wash off the spots of dried blood on his hands. He would try cleaning the splotches of black blood off his jeans with no effect. He would give up and go back to the bedroom. Taking care to avoid looking at the bed’s occupant, he would rummage through the wardrobe for anything to change into. Seeing the abundance of female clothing, he would assume the apartment belongs to the deceased. He would find a pair of mens’ jeans carefully tucked into one of the compartments. Probably belonging to a boyfriend. He would panic at the thought of someone coming in to find him there. He would find a shirt to complement the jeans and would promptly change.

He would pack his ruined clothes into a black polyethylene bag he stumbles on and stuff it into a suitcase he would get from the wardrobe. He would pick up the weapon and toss it into the bag. He would go round the house looking for something; anything that would connect him to the murder. He would find his bunch of keys down at the kitchen table and put them in his pocket.

He would find his shoes at a corner and slide his feet in. He would then go back to the bedroom to continue his foray. He would notice a bedside picture of the deceased on the bedroom floor and he will gaze at the beautiful pale skinned redhead who is far from being the same woman on the bed. Death has been so unkind. He would open the drawer and bringing out a sheet, he would gingerly sidle to the bed and cover up the body of the woman on the bed. Using the sheet, he would shield her unseeing eyes rolled up in…surprise? Ecstasy? He would wonder for a second if they had sex and would look around for used condoms. Finding none, he would assume they did not and would let out a sigh of relief.

He would find his wallet wedged between the bedpost and the wall. He would gingerly bring it out but would fail to notice something.

He would check to make sure it’s his. It is his picture on the ID Card smiling up at him. He would nod in satisfaction, pocketing his London Metropolitan Police ID.

He is a killer and a police officer.

He would leave the house with the suitcase containing his ruined clothes in tow.

He would forget something important wedged between the bedpost and the wall.

The smiling face on his driver’s licence which would be his own undoing.

He would leave the house of murder to dispose the suitcase at a dump site. He would go home to his wife and three kids, claiming to have been busy at the station.

He would try to put the incident off his mind; pretend.

He would be arrested within 48 hours.

He would claim innocence. After all, you cannot be guilty of a crime you do not remember committing can you?

How do I know this?

I know.

How can I foretell the future?

Because it would happen just as I have planned it.

My name is Rage.

Look, they’re coming!

Having an argument; The police officer and the pale skinned redhead woman.

Who knows…

Maybe I’d be wrong.

Fat chance.

THE END.

Make sure to pay homage to the writer at the phantom pages. Be back here tomorrow by 4 p.m for another exciting read.

P.S: DO NOT FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE