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The Mind of a Killer
In the mind of a killer, there is only passion. Born from the onset of his wife's betrayal, no other man knew the thin line of love and hate better than him. Staring out the window from the back corner of his home, his unremitting desire to ogle over a patch of deep green grass was deeply satisfying - a pound of dirt to some, but a burial plot to him.
Given the searing heat known prominently throughout the State of Louisiana, one has to wonder when the stench of his wife's corpse will make its presence known. Alas, the knock on his door by the local Sheriff only affirmed his worries.
"Morning," said the Sheriff, as he reached for his handkerchief, wiping off the bullets of sweat piercing through the pores of his pale and worn face. "I'm here to remedy a complaint. You wouldn't happen to know what I'm talking 'bout, would'a?"
He wasn't sure if his silence was anymore convincing of his guilt - of his passion - than the sweat off his brow in a house with the air conditioning at 19 °C. All he was capable of was shaking his head, hoping that any sign of confusion could alleviate any suspicion the Sheriff might have of him.
"Well...my wife remains adamant, demanding me to find out when we're to acquire another basket of those delicious tomatoes of yours?" As the Sheriff begins to smirk, a sigh of relief took over his body. The tension in his shoulders began to relieve as he swayed his hand towards the back of the house.
Just behind the patch of deep green grass, a garden of bright red tomatoes could be seen. Bending over to reach for one, all he could smell was dirt. With a smile on his face that would only confirm his lethargic attitude of the situation at hand, he begins to grab a handful of tomatoes and surrenders them to the Sheriff.
Normally they wouldn't be ready for another week, but as fate would have it, the death of his wife added extra fertilizer to ensure the happiness of the Sheriff's own.
As the Sheriff leaves, waving his hand out the window of his squad car, the man makes his way back into his house and locks the door behind him. With the not-so-subtle confirmation of him getting away with murder, once more, he began to stare out the window from the back corner of his home. Therein lies the mind of a killer.
©2015 B.J. Murphy
Given the searing heat known prominently throughout the State of Louisiana, one has to wonder when the stench of his wife's corpse will make its presence known. Alas, the knock on his door by the local Sheriff only affirmed his worries.
"Morning," said the Sheriff, as he reached for his handkerchief, wiping off the bullets of sweat piercing through the pores of his pale and worn face. "I'm here to remedy a complaint. You wouldn't happen to know what I'm talking 'bout, would'a?"
He wasn't sure if his silence was anymore convincing of his guilt - of his passion - than the sweat off his brow in a house with the air conditioning at 19 °C. All he was capable of was shaking his head, hoping that any sign of confusion could alleviate any suspicion the Sheriff might have of him.
"Well...my wife remains adamant, demanding me to find out when we're to acquire another basket of those delicious tomatoes of yours?" As the Sheriff begins to smirk, a sigh of relief took over his body. The tension in his shoulders began to relieve as he swayed his hand towards the back of the house.
Just behind the patch of deep green grass, a garden of bright red tomatoes could be seen. Bending over to reach for one, all he could smell was dirt. With a smile on his face that would only confirm his lethargic attitude of the situation at hand, he begins to grab a handful of tomatoes and surrenders them to the Sheriff.
Normally they wouldn't be ready for another week, but as fate would have it, the death of his wife added extra fertilizer to ensure the happiness of the Sheriff's own.
As the Sheriff leaves, waving his hand out the window of his squad car, the man makes his way back into his house and locks the door behind him. With the not-so-subtle confirmation of him getting away with murder, once more, he began to stare out the window from the back corner of his home. Therein lies the mind of a killer.
©2015 B.J. Murphy
Published 12th Dec 2015
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