Somebody here is a Murderer
Trigger warning: self harm
As the children go round and round, screaming blissfully as the swing carousel carries them in mid-air. Fear the furthest thing from their small brains as the wind flying through their clothes, makes their bodies become glittered with goose bumps and violently brushes their hair backwards. Excitement fills the air as worried parents stand guard, praying for their children. They will be fine, they hope silently in their minds. Their worried eyes roams the ride, following their child’s excited gaze. They are fine.
The sweet smell of caramel infects the air, swiftly moving with the wind, caressing the noses of people close. The sky is painted blue and pink, as the sun weighs down into the clouds, shining slightly.
Laughter surrounds me as I walk through the different machinery, sliding gracefully to avoid running, reckless children and parents trying to catch up with their offspring. Broken children, squealing children and the whirring of the fair rides fill my ears as I aimlessly wander around this playground of temporary fulfilment.
My phone vibrates violently against my thigh. I grab my phone out of my pocket and tap the screen.
“Good afternoon, Boss,” I say unsure.
Today is my day off, it is unusual for me to be called in and I school tomorrow. I really don’t want to go. Cant I just sleep?
“Aurea, I need you down by 5th Avenue this instant,” he states urgently. He abruptly cuts the call. Rude much. I leave the fair, making my way down to the crime scene.
Clusters of people are scattered across the pavement. I bet they are all on their way to the fair. I see the millionaire, Mr Myers, surrounded by the press in the middle of an interview. He organized the fair and everything raised goes to the new orphanage being built so of course, the need for more publicity of his ‘good deed’ is prevalent. Millionaire bitches, you know. I walk behind the blinding lights and desperate pleas of the press for Myers to answer their questions. Kill myself.
“.. and I will be supervising the building of this orphanage for the betterment of the..” I hear him preach to the thirsty press. Blah blah blah. Do I care? I finally walk pass the hoard of desperation and pride to run into the snobbiest crowd at school. Please tell me that they didn’t see me. Like can I have break? I walk through the pack of Barbie dolls, hoping they don’t recognise me. It was too late to change routes, I mean the bushes were an option but I have to get to work. I manage to pass through the plastic people. A hand forcefully pushes me on the back and I fall face first on the muddy water. Maybe I didn’t make it through. I pick my head up slightly as the water drips down my hair and I hear the evil chuckle of the dolls. My clothes soaked, tinted with the brown now. I wake up from the pavement and I walk while I drip down the side walk to the crime scene.
I walk towards the flashing blue and red lights. Police officials try to avert the crowd from the tragedy. I duck under the yellow tape and search for my boss.
I catch my boss near the body as he examines the body.
“I know it’s your day off but why the hell do you smell worse than the victim,” he looks at me in confusion.
“I tripped,” I blatantly state.
“Oh clumsy, Aurea,” he warmheartedly says as he dishevels my soaking wet hair.
“So what happened?”
“the victim got caught in the fire. A homeless person. A passer byer reported it as he tried to put the fire out. It was too late though. Murder or Accident?” he asks expectantly as he looks to me, handing me rubber gloves.
As an intern, what the hell am I supposed to know sir? I want to blurt out. I take in my surroundings. The scene is barren except for a few bushes. A tattered tent and burnt belonging litter the scene. The victim’s skin is leathery black. I step closer to the body and get a whiff of gasoline.
“Murder,” I say in disgust.
“Gasoline. The victim smells like gasoline.”
“Yes, but that is not all. Come closer. Look at her skin, those 3rd degree burns aren’t enough to kill a person. Now, I want you to look at her arms. Bruising. The victim struggled.”
The body was littered with tiny bruises, around the waist and throat area.
“Who would want to kill a homeless person? It could be an alcoholic coming from the fair. Nothing serious. Does it matter? I don’t see the point.”
“There is always a point to a murder, Aurea. The details matter,” he looks sympathetically at the body,” Mark, take the body for examining.”
I leave, irritated.
Nobody cares for the homeless. They just exist.
I walk home as the darkness takes over the painted blue and pink sky, making the beautiful canvas disappear. The slow breeze ruffles through my somewhat wet clothing. I take in a deep breath, the streetlights faintly guiding me home until they fade out after a long one minute of working.
Where the hell does my taxes go?
I enter my rusty abode and shut the cranky door quietly. My guardian passed out drunk on the couch, bottle in hand as I creep upstairs, unwillingly to deal with that thing now. I go up to my small filthy room and sit on my creaky bed. I pull out a blade and feel the cool metal slide against my skin slowly and deep. I take in the stinging pain as the white cut slowly gets filled with red molecules that unite and leave the cut, dripping down the side of my arm, staining the floor. Tears leave my eyes as slides gracefully down the sides of my cheeks as it dilutes the red on the floor. I close my eyes, taking in the darkness until I feel a shift.
I open my eyes to find myself in a large space, surrounded my people I have never seen before. I an feel the confusion and tension in the room. Indistinct chatter fills my ears as I pull my sleeves up and a guy in an all-black suit enters the room, standing at the top of the two-way staircase. He gains the crowds attention by a slight tap on a champagne glass. Everyone faces towards him.
“Somebody in this room is a murderer.”