[ a tragic novel, complete at 44k words, wattpad featured ]
Gladys never killed anyone. She wasn't the wolf that had mercilessly dug her claws into her own mother and cousin. She wasn't a killer. All bleach bones and opaque humanity were the real Gl...
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MARMALADE SUNSETS AND cotton borne skies were all Cathays needed for a marvellous evening. Bronze statues of politicians that shaped history gleamed in the tantalising sun, edges crafted with utmost preciseness and respect. As if the moulder himself was a juristic person. Tree canopies of sepia-tinted leaves rustled in the permanent wind, air filled with the aroma of pine and cosmic terracotta. The place looked like a warm haven that had been baked in a low oven.
Golden sunshine spilled over people's homes as they sat glued on their sofa's, eyes unwavering from the newscast on the television screen. The news of the magistrate arrest warrant of Gladys Alinski was made official just three hours prior. Platters of biscuits and mugs of tea lay wriggly in their hands, anticipating a true serial killer to appear on the screen. Global news signals radio activated all the way to Cathays, strangers prying their ears into what the media said. That's all they needed for accusation. It was a confirmation, a confirmation that there was a killer who got caught by the smart officers in town. They never attempted to listen to a second justification, a second revelation. The truth being just a shadow behind the lies.
The Montgomery's household television had its volume up high, high enough for the old grandparents and great grandparents to hear. Cousins, distant cousins, unknown aunts and uncles, maternal and paternal grandparents and grandmothers and a german shepherd named Danty were the people who lived on Main Street, away from the green rolls of hills and beaches. The extensive family enjoyed the pleasure of being centralised, thus living on Main Street for decades. The whole main street was under the feet of this family, never selling their house nor moving out of the country.
And towards the edge of a pocket street lived Levi Montgomery with his parents and older sister, Jackie. Being the youngest of the Montgomerys, they'd preferred the latest of the detached houses, building it up before Jackie was born.
Branched asphodels and white carnations littered the front yard, idyllic and jewel-toned. Passer-bys often stopped near their gate, just to catch the scent of the bunce of carnations. Little kids would poke their hands through the wooden garden fences, hoping to tear off a lily from the soft brown soil and running off with the small petals tucked under their trouser buttons or shirt collars. And then, Levi would come pounding down the stairs and race up to the front door, yelling out made-up threats about how he'll put lock them up in the morgue and such. But Levi half wished he could, but didn't dare.
Today was one evening where his father had commanded him to catch the brats. Most of the days, he'd have to perch by his windowsill, feet already dressed with Chuck Taylor and thighs jiggling with impatience. But now, Levi had ringed up Jamie and Nott, his two best friends, to discuss dead bodies without him getting bored.
Jamie flipped her strawberry blonde locks behind her shoulders. Cherry wine lips curled into a smug smile as she lay on her stomach on Levi's bed, bare feet raised high in the air. Jamie wore neon shorts and a matching polka-dotted shirt. Everything about Jamie was neon and Levi found it as weird as his grandfather's chicken hatred. Jamie had dirty brown irises, smuggled with the lightest of yellows at the deep end. Levi once noticed this when they were in Year 3, during one of those hot, sunny beach days. It had amazed him.
