The Carter Hollow Murders

Michael Aiden - Task Three

User: IrishHumanoid

Listen... I never thought this would happen. A man like Arthur, I could trust. Now, he's vanished. As the accusations we're being made- more importantly. I won't be able to last much longer, I don't think. The consistent anxiety has wore on me, my sanity.

This string of murder has bore down on Carter Hollow. It's flawless reputation in the public eye, that meant nothing. We were on the site of a godforsaken massacre. Panting, I leaned on my desk. I never got a doctor's description of my injury, so I didn't know to care for it.

Maybe, my lung was pierced. I scoffed, there goes my mind again, assuming nearly the worst. Though, overexertion felt incredibly easy to fall victim to. "Man-" I heaved, groggily trying to catch my fleeting breath. Thankfully, I managed to stand up once more.

Recounting the events of the tunnels, the urge to mourn clouded my thoughts. Too many have been lost, especially those with futures, and I was still lingering. A deadbeat, one that has barely held on to his profession. I have truly despised myself, much like the pot-smoking hippies I grew up with. How funny. I'm only a drug-dependent punk with enough issues to be walled up in a psych ward.

A self aware one, at least. "Oh, Offspring," I cooed, taking a 'Best Of' compilation CD. It sat among dozens of others, opened and strewn about the workspace. I went to a brighter track, possibly to cheer me up. Pretty Fly was one of their more dorky songs, but I needed something light-hearted. My movements were... equally as weird but I was enjoying myself.

"And all the girlies say I'm pretty fly, for a white guy!" My voice somewhat resembled their lead singer, Dexter Holland, though I was still content. My rhythmic movements become somewhat exaggerated, as if I was in a mosh pit.

"Oh- thank god!" I heard a female voice, struggling to speak through her laughter. I stopped 'dancing' almost immediately, turning around, blank faced. Joan... damn. I nearly tackled her, hugging her tightly.

She smiled at me, relieved. She was practically hysterical. "I thought something happened..." She nearly sobbed, her words stringing together. Her eyes peered down at the dark wound, reddened bandage, just the entire war zone that was on my ribs. I just continued to thank her, now at peace. We talked for a moment, until she walked off.

Now, I could die without much regret. I mean, at least I properly thanked the girl who saved it first.

Picking up a dusty acoustic, I sat down opposite of my music stand. It's been so long, old friend. I noted my hands were shaking as I reached to shut off the radio. What a day. Maybe this song would fit the current mood.

Struggling to begin the first section, I cursed myself numerous times. With new found focus, I soon sung,"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road..."