This is just a short story essay that I was assigned to write in my English 1A class this semester. I liked how it turned out, so I decided I'd post it here.

Love and Murder

I remember her eyes the most. Dark and half-closed, they were just dead, with no vision or life left in them. The dented car carried her within its bloody womb, her frail body strewn across the back seat. Her curly blond hair was stained with crimson, and her wrists were chafed, with the flesh scraped, from the wires wrapped around them. Her lips, soft and pink, still looked as though they had chap stick on them, and she had carefully applied brown eyeshadow to her eyelids, but now the brown had mixed with red. This girl was maybe 18, her life ahead of her… yet someone out there with a gun had decided otherwise. Maybe it was the odd crescent-shaped little gouge marks on the side of her head that let me know that something was not right… but I knew from something here that this had not been a regular murder scene. Then I noticed the shape of her earrings… they were little silver dangly earrings, dangling moons. Her clothes had not been ruined – she still had her Gap khaki capris intact, with a black leather belt around the waist, and her green t-shirt was clean. This was not possible, I thought to myself – if she was shot in the head with a gun, from any angle, the blood would have gotten on her shirt, at least. Her clothes had been changed. Peeking under her clothes, I could see that there had been a struggle. Her legs had splotches of black and blue, and there were scratch marks up and down her slender back. She had struggled to live, fought the predator. This was what it was that I had seen in those dark eyes… the loss of hope, the ultimate death.

Stepping back, I could see that the car had been damaged as well. The passenger side door lay, tossed carelessly, on the ground beside the front tire. There was also much blood soaking the beige seats within the car, especially under her small head. Brown mud had also embedded itself in the beige carpet, showing a shoe print. The tread looked like that of a basketball shoe, perhaps Nike. The mud was smeared, however, so I could not make out the brand. The killer had been careless, leaving a footprint, leaving all this behind… perhaps it had been something he wanted to get over with, and not have to face afterwards.

Popping open the glove compartment, I saw some typical things that a teenage girl would have – chap stick, a brush, a compact, some tapes for music in the car, and a little bottle of perfume. However, among these was also some letters. They were all in envelopes addressed by the same person, in sloppy blue ink. Gary White, the return address said. None of these letters had been opened. Ripping open the first one, I read on to see that Gary was a friend of Nicole’s from high school. After they had graduated, he had moved to Oregon; therefore they had to keep in touch by letters. This was just a letter to ask Nicole how she was doing, what she had been up to, and to let her know that he wasn’t going to forget about her. I shoved it back into the envelope and moved on to ripping open the next one. This one was more personal. Gary wondered why Nicole had not responded to his last letter, and he was concerned that it had perhaps gotten lost in the mail. He missed her, and wanted to see her again, to visit maybe in February. He had tried calling her, but her line was busy. Last letter. He is upset that she is still not responding to him. He feels as though she doesn’t care enough about their friendship to keep in touch. He feels like he is being neglected because of the fact that he had told her that he was in love with her, and she did not feel the same way… he feels bad for letting her know that, if it was to ruin their friendship. He says he is coming back home in February, and he is going to visit her. He says he is sorry for the problems that he has caused, but that he cannot help the way he feels.

Time to check the trunk. There is not much in the trunk, except some jumper cables and a brown grocery bag. There is everything in the bag that one needs to make sandwiches: bread, mayonnaise, ham, cheese, lettuce, tomato. Along with the sandwich contents, there is a white candle, with the tip burnt a little, and a red checkered picnic blanket. There is a bottle of white wine in the grocery bag as well, and two wine glasses. One glass has lip prints on it… the other does not. In the corner of the bag, almost hidden, lays a little white box. It looks like a jewelry box. I pop open the lid, and inside it is empty. Perhaps the box which contained the earrings.

Back inside the car. Lowering my head to look under the seat, I smell something odd. It smell like something rotting. Using my flashlight, I look to see a rose, all battered and torn, with the petals hanging off the stem. There was a card sitting under the stem of the rose as well. I pulled out the red envelope to see that it had just been addressed “Nicole.” The card had not been opened either. Tearing the envelope open, I read a cute little romantic card, with two puppies on the front. Gary had written, “Nicole, I love you, Love Gary.” That was all.

Love. It’s a funny thing… often it is necessary for one to live; yet sometimes it can kill.



About Me

The Benjamin Gate

Friends & Family

Art and Photography

My Trip to the East Coast!



My Deviant Art



Mailing List

Email Me