no crying over spilt milk

Posted by on January 03, 2012
shorts, tales, the night / No Comments

A soft blanket of freshly fallen snow glistened like a field of diamonds; me walking alone into the frigid wind, up the path leading to a small log cabin. Over my shoulder is a black duffle bag, in my right hand I carry some groceries; my left holds my cigarette. I take a drag on my smoke and notice how serene the quaint cabin looks with smoke rising from the chimney and nothing but orange candle glow through the windows.

I juggled for the keys and manged too unlock the door and open it without dropping the grocery bag. As I began too step into the house I turned to face the outside, flicked my cigarette butt into the yard, when I finally looked inside the house I was standing three feet away from a half dressed brunette woman laying in a puddle a blood.

Heart beat; faster and faster. Breathing, deeper. Panic, shock… and yet some sort of weird primeval excitement at the site of a dead human being. I was knocked out of my daze of bewilderment and other thoughts by the groceries hitter the floor, a milk jug bursting open. The thick white milk began to roll towards the body, and started mixing with the dark red blood.

The sound of Police sirens startled me yet again… Then, my only thought was; “What the fuck….?”