Dust

Bloody Knife

“MR. GEORGES, DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS KNIFE”?

I stared at the knife in disbelief. Of course I recognize it.  I own a knife exactly like that one.

Worse yet is the fact that the tile in the back ground looks exactly like the tile in my kitchen.

This nightmare is getting more bizarre by the minute . . . check that . . . by the second.

I looked up at the officer and I know that he saw the fear and confusion in my eyes.

His cold dark eyes faded out . . .

“Mr. Georges, you do realize that we can dust the knife for prints. Don’t you”?

**blogger’s note** This is my contribution to @velvetverbosity’s 100 word challenge at http://velvetberbosity.com This weeks word is DUST

Here are the previous post’s for this story line:

The room was deafeningly quiet. The only sound was the constant hum that screamed at me from the light hanging above. My elbows were rested on the cold, hard steel table that was in front of me. I could not keep from wondering why they were making me sit in this room. Actually, I could not keep from wondering why in the hell they had picked me up at work in the first place.

Suddenly, the door burst open and the first words from the officer’s mouth were “Mr. Georges, we think that you stabbed and killed that poor girl”

I was shocked at the words that came out of his mouth. How could they think that I had stabbed some girl?  My mind seemed to be frozen in time until I noticed . . .

. . . the credentials hanging from his jacket pocket said C.I.A – as in Central Intelligence Agency.

Since when did the CIA start investigating stabbings of poor girls?

This had to be a dream. A joke. A prank. This had to be something other than reality.

“Mr. Georges, tell me exactly where you were last night at 7:30PM!”

Nothing was coming to mind. Why was I drawing a blank? My mind started to drift back to last night . . . nothing was coming.

I tried to think of what happened yesterday afternoon . . . nothing was coming. I could feel a cold bead of sweat starting to run down the back of my neck.

Flash

At that exact moment there must of have been a power surge or someone flicked the light switch because the light hanging above my head fluctuated. That temporary change to my environment caused a memory to surge into my head. I remember thinking that meeting my ex at the club for one drink would be harmless.

“Why did you do it?” That seemed to be their favorite question.

“How come you will not tell us where you where last night”?

The fog returned every time they asked this one. How come I could only remember meeting Sophia but not remember any details of our night together.

I only had a couple of drinks and I am used to drinking many more than that. We didn’t mix anything illicit into our partying last night. Maybe someone slipped me a roofie.

Does that happen to men?

After four hours of interviews it suddenly hit me! I was starved.

The hunger pains started to set in and that did not mix well with the pressure that was starting to develop inside my head. At least 6 years had passed since I had gotten a migraine but I could tell that the framework for a mighty one had already been laid.

I tried to focus on the words that were coming from the officer’s mouth but I could not decipher anything that he was saying.

Images from last night kept flooding my minds’ eye.

Sophia!

Drinks!

Strobe-lights!

Dancing!

A wig!

A girl!

Who was she?

S M A C K – “I don’t think you are listening”?

I tried as hard as I could to stay in my chair. I knew that any attempt to “release” my frustration would be met with quick and decisive action but I exploded.

I jumped from my chair and reached for the officer but they reacted more quickly than I did.

I felt a hand on the back of my neck. It was a very large and strong hand and it forced me back to my chair.

A picture was placed on the table in front of me.

“Mr. Georges, DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS GIRL”

The wigged girl is a redhead!?!?

“MR. GEORGES, DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS KNIFE”?

I stared at the knife in disbelief. Of course I recognize it.  I own a knife exactly like that one.

Worse yet is the fact that the tile in back ground looks exactly like the tile in my kitchen.

This nightmare is getting more bizarre by the minute . . . check that . . . by the second.

I looked up at the officer and I know that he saw the fear and confusion in my eyes.

His cold dark eyes faded out . . .

“Mr. Georges, you do realize that we can dust the knife for prints. Don’t you”?

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5 Responses to Dust

  1. This dude’s predicament just keeps getting worse!

    Question, do you have any of this written ahead of time? Or do you wait for the prompt and use it to progress the story? Either way, bravo.

  2. dxpepper says:

    I wait for the prompt and it guides me. I think I have an “overall” plot mapped out in my head but I guess it is subject to change if the “word” doesnt let me go there.

    Thanks for the “bravo” 🙂

  3. Donna Kiser says:

    What an intriguing idea, using the prompts to write a story. Yet another way to get past the block. Excellent work. Thanks
    dk

  4. Tara R. says:

    You can feel the narrator’s confusion and frustration. Wonderful tension in this story.

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