06 March 2010

Blood (nonfiction)

Just past 7 am.

I walked out to my car and saw a streak of red in an arch across the driver door.

I used the squeegee from the gas station, and scrubbed. I dipped in the orange bucket, the water was black. And I scrubbed.

I saw the lady at the next pump. She looked at me. And for a second, I thought she knew. She knew I had murdered the old woman myself. Murdered her with the back of an ax.

The red disappeared from my car, but it dripped onto the pavement, not dissappearing at all. And when I touched the handle, it got on my hands, and I knew. I knew I could never escape. I had to turn myself in.

Okay. It was really just ketchup.


  1. I recently read Crime and Punishment. It has to do with a murder and the back of an ax. Sometimes I let my imagination get a little too carried away.

    But yeah, this was a real event, just me scrubbing freaking ketchup off my car, and daydreaming (or daynightmaring) at the same time.

  2. Whoever squeezed ketchup on your car deserves to be murdered with a blunt axe.

    Just kidding. Really. Just kidding.


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— J