Word Count: 320
Warnings: implied ass*ult/m*rder
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ☠ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ☠ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ☠ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ☠ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
sharp-edged holes were left where the windowpanes of glass once stood. The curtains ripped off the walls lay bundled up at the door, collecting the stench wafting through the empty doorway. The front door. It was left hanging open, its hinges creaking in a way that if it were any other situation would be deemed eery, but here, it was just a hollow reminder of this shell of a life. The wind blew through the wooden frame, leaves occasionally flying in and settling themselves down on the wooden floor.
The tap was still running, the water spilling onto the floor and leaking out of the bathroom. Maybe if the water kept running, just a little further for just a little longer, the evidence would be washed away. Out of sight, out of existence. Maybe the lack of evidence would've left this case cold, she would've been left to ferment in mystery, an urban legend that would undoubtedly be twisted to be as horrific as possible as the retellings would go on. She would've liked that.
But the water flow didn't quite make it to the kitchen, and not a shred of evidence was washed away. Her whole story was laid out on display for anyone who bothered to look, which was really only those who had to.
What happened to her happens to others, her case was in no way unique. Her case said nothing about her. Her case did her life no justice. She was just another name on just another list in just another file that no one would ever pull out of the dusty corners of the police station. there was no reason to, her case was opened and closed.
She was just another girl who found herself at a loud party with loud people. Her drunk haze lead her back home, with a man who would never really have to serve his time for what he'd done.