300 words after a murder

The breeze from the balcony door tossed the curtain aside and admitted a bold ray of sun into the room. Like a spotlight it shone brightly on the stage, highlighting the monstrous scene.

She raised her hands to shield her eyes and realized they were trembling; aftershocks of an earthquake. She turned them over. Her knuckles were bruised, bloody and broken; a small price to pay considering she was half his size.

Her eyes moved from her quaking hands to the lifeless corpse. The body rested on the floor, propped up against the box spring like a puppet; limp limbs splayed out, palms turned upwards, as if asking her “What now?” Blood dripped from split cuts, the rumpled t-shirt soaked up most of it. A swelled tongue hung listlessly from behind his swollen lips. Two glossy green eyes starred intensely at the carpet. Vacant windows now.

God, he looked even more revolting dead.

She couldn’t decide what was worse; the bloodied body before her or the fact that she actually felt good. Hot adrenaline was coursing through her veins, through each tendon, every fiber of muscle and to the core of each bone from her head to her toes. She felt charged up, ready to go again; alive. And she liked it.

She removed the sheet from the bed and stretched it on the hotel room floor. She then grudgingly wrapped her arms around the chest of the body and struggled to maneuver it across the room and on to the sheet. This close she could smell the sweat that had leached through the shirt and mixed with the faint stench of cigarettes, so she held her breath. She dropped the body on the linen and kicked it hard with her foot. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt deserved.

Word count: 300

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