Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26886981-20160916022150

It was dreadful last night. I was up thinking about the muck I’d got myself into after the fight. She just had to be right. I swore, slammed the door and took the spare room. After the brawl, I barely slept at all. Vaguely, I remember the thunder and lightning. A crash. A flash. Enough to make a grown man dash for his covers ‘till dawn.

I awoke to the plight of my alarm with the sun now shining bright through my window. I could smell smoke. She must have burnt her toast like most mornings. What a joke. I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed. “I hope she’s not still fed up with me” I said. I got dressed, brushed my teeth and shaved by beard short. ‘To avoid another war, best I wait ‘till she’s out the door’ I thought.

I heard the boom as she closed the door and more, her keys lock up before finally heading out the spare room for breakfast. The whole place was spick and span. Nothing like we left it after shit hit the fan. ‘She’s been cleaning, that’s odd’, I thought as I trod into the kitchen to make a coffee and pour some cereal.

I pushed the button on the coffee machine. Nothing. Not any steam and it would seem not even the little light would turn on. “Hmm, I’ll try the stove” I murmured. Among the coffee machine, the electric stove and the microwave, nothing worked. A power cut? I was irked. “It must have been that storm!” I scorned. I mourned my morning coffee and my poor luck before the thought struck. ‘Then how was she making toast?’ I just couldn’t tell. All that time messing with the appliances without their compliances left no time to dwell. I had to walk to work.

I’ve always been a quiet individual at my job. I’m pitiful at making conversation so I often just head straight to my station without as much as a nod. A prod at the button on my computer brought no response. “Of course” I grumbled in a whine. “This building is on the same power line”. I stumbled out of my chair to look what everyone else was doing. The other computers were on. Why was my power gone? That’s unusual. I looked over into the cubicle of Rob. “My computer isn’t working” I mumbled. What a snob! Blanked. Sarcastically I thanked and got up to find my boss to sort out this dross.

A knock on the door brought no reply. Sigh. This guy is sending me into a spin. I’ll let myself in. I begin to complain but what a pain. He’s not paying me any attention. “Look, I just thought I’d mention my computer isn’t operational” attempting to be confrontational. How sensational! I’m being ignored. Is this a prank? I’m bored of this. If no one will help me, I’ll flee.

As I was marching back home, I was starting to wonder if the day could get any worse, what with everyone’s averse dislike for me recently. Speedily, I turned onto my road when the site ahead made me uneasily concerned. Flashing lights, police tape, Tyvek suits? I wonder what this constitutes. I saw a black van and a man being put into the back covered up on a stretcher. I venture even closer to the mess to find this crime scene is at my address! “What’s happened here?” I screamed. The headlights of the black van beamed as it sped the dead away. I ducked under the tape, my mouth in a gape, as I begged for the officer to explain the coroner.

“I live here. What’s happened?” I cry as the officer stood by. He looked past me in confusion before turning away in conclusion. The exclusion left me angered in profusion. Before I tore into him with my invective, along approached the detective to give his perspective. He gives my name. “Yes that’s me” I proclaim. “Looks like a homicide” he exclaims. “Oh my god! Who? What happened?” I ask in a panic. He continues on despite my manic. ''“The victim was found on the bed. Multiple gunshot wounds to the torso and head but the crime scene’s been cleaned of evidence”'' he said. I asked for their intelligence, “Who? Who!?” but no reply. Why? “Please tell me detective; stop being so rejective!”

“His body was found in the spare room.” Now I started to feel the doom. “His family will be informed”. Then it clicked. It never stormed! It was dreadful last night. At the height of the fight, I swore, slammed the door and took the spare room. A flash. A loud noise. The smell of smoke. I remember my offender before I woke.

Written by Beddy Byes

This is my first attempt at writing in this style so I expect there're plenty of improvements to be made. Feel free you to be as brutal as you want to suggest any improvements. I'm yet to think of a title for this work.  