Sensible Living


When I saw the blood, only one thought raced through my mind.

I am witness to a murder.

The killer didn’t see me at first.  He slit the old fellow’s throat with a knife much longer than my forearm.  Dressed in black shoes, black pants, black coat, black hat and black gloves, the man appeared nothing if obvious as if this were all straight out of some old noir film.  Only in reality, when your eyes see this sort of thing and you take it all in and the signal hits the brain, something happens.  There is a pause or beat telling you what you saw and that your eyes aren’t failing you.  You know that this is in fact as real as a cancer diagnosis.  I’ve always said human beings are selfish and I must say I still believe so.  As I stood there behind the wall peering through at the scene before my eyes and the fellow on the cement floor with his head nearly cut off, I thought of saving myself.  All the fear came from my survival.  Now clearly this poor fellow wouldn’t survive anyway, but my instincts hit me so hard that I knew if he had a good chance of surviving I would have stayed right where I was and let the killer leave even if it meant allowing him to bleed out.  I would save my own ass regardless.

Only that wouldn’t be happening.

The funny thing about looking through that hole in the wall wasn’t that I could see the killer and the victim.  The funny thing is that the black- clad killer happened to spot the hole.  I’ve always been known for my big set of almond eyes which have driven countless ladies to initially take an interest in me since I could remember.  Only they must have given off the slightest hint of light.  Enough to cause this maniac to run around the corner of the wall to go after his biggest problem.  His witness.

Just as my instincts kicked into survival mode, I realized I couldn’t start running just then.  My heart pounded as I stood where I was to await the onslaught of my assailant.  The first thing in my vision was the blade swooping at my forehead at a breakneck speed.  Sparks flew from the wall as my hair caught a bit of the slice.  Had my head been an eighth of an inch higher, I would be dead.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)