i am standing under the old castle on the cliff and when the cannons fire, i cry and i cry and i cry. i must have died in a war, i think, half lucid as my whole body shakes in the rain. (how did they fire if the fuses were wet?) my parents shove soggy bread down my throat in an attempt to stave the tears, to take my mind off of the sounds of gunfire and a thousand emotions from a thousand memories i cannot scramble to retrieve. it feels like lead in my gullet; i am foie gras pre-butchery, slender neck gagging and voiceless.

i hate the eyes that follow me as i make my way down to breakfast. taxidermy preserves some semblance of the natural, turning it twisted. i do not dream of being chased by foxes. the fox's eyes are not glassy, its fur is not matted or covered in dust. its mouth is not contorted, forever gaping as a glassy-eyed pheasant lies stiff in its jaws. the pampered skulls of a dozen poultry are trained on the back of my head, my hands, my stomach, as i hurry past them. i do not dream of foxes, but i fear the day i do.

we are walking sun-kissed streets and my mother buys a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and i laugh when she bites into it and spits it out; it is rotten and i laugh and prod at the blackened remains and i laugh because i am not hungry, no i am not hungry, i would never take a rotten chestnut and taste the disease coating the cavern of my mouth; i would never become such a primal creature, no, no, no; mother you have made the loftier mistake; i remain content and the emptiness in my stomach only grows.

Stanley McKlintock was not your ordinary homicide detective. Detective being the rank in which he currently held at the precinct. Precinct 14, Harlem Division, was where Stanley was stationed for his lastest investigation. Investigation work was his passion. Passion was what sometimes got him into trouble.

"Trouble" was the nickname Stanley's grandmother had for him when he was young. Young, being what he no longer was. Was he ever to solve this difficult crime? Crime was hard to prove. Prove it, Stanley McKlintock will do.

"Do you know where the suspect is hiding?" Stanley asked his partner, Newt Fulbourne. Fulbourne was very bright. Bright and smarter that average. Average was not a thing for Newt.

Newt knew who had done the stabbing. Stabbing was often bloody. Bloody was this particular scene. Scence 247.8 was how Stanley and Newt labeled the evidence file, which they used to identify the killer. Killer Bill, the famous serial killer, was linked to this crime because bright and smart detectives had solved it. It was easy. Easy as a Sunday morning.

Morning came and the two detectives presented their findings to the station. Station 107.9 FM quietly played a Bon Jovi song on the radio while Stanley and Newt filled everyone in. "In a moment," Stanley continued, "we will show you the sword that Killer Bill used in his last and final crime. Crime is a bad thing, Gentlemen. Gentlemen, the initials KB were found on the tip of the hilt of the sword. Sword damage to the victim was most severe. Severe punishment shall befall the man who did this, a man by the name of Killer Bill!"

Bill, the killer of the victim, entered the room looking defeated. "Defeated me this time you did detectives, but I'll be back sometime soon. Soon as you can possibly imagine. Imagine I do this again!?" Killer Bill shouted.

Shouted was the last thing Killer Bill did before being locked up, probably for life. Life is what he had taken. Taken was he, for a fool. Fool around as a free man he was to never do again.

Again, Stanley McKlintock had solved the difficult crime. Crime was what he had no stomach for. For he was a good man.

“You know my methods. Apply them.”

― Arthur Conan Doyle

***

Usually stories are written in two different styles. The first is through the author’s own language, i.e. the story begins with “I”. The second is by depicting another person, i.e. the main character in the story is said to be “he” or "she". If you would like to see a third style as well, please read this little creation and draw a conclusion...

***

... Jason is talking to you, my friend! Why are you so stubborn? O sun, the light is falling on Nick's eyes, please dim the light a little. Nick is a sick guy. O you viruses! get out of his body and release him. You are listening to me, I know that. I see you. Hey you dwarf virus, why are you laughing at me? You are very cunning. Where did you come from? Can you tell me the answer? What can I do to leave the whole world in peace? What? Speak louder! (ptchchchh subbbiminind sidnisnd). I understand! So now I know the secret. Thank you dwarf! Leave Nick alone ...

***

If you pay attention, the story is written in a command tone in relation to any particular subject, and a third person is added to it. True, this method is probably not new, but for someone it may be new ...

EXT. DAWN – ON A MARINE BASE IN YUMA

A lone woman exits a dilapitated barracks room. She pauses a minute to watch the sun rise. She walks with a spring in her step and stops infront of an almost pristine white building. She wants to sing and dance but she composes herself. She quickly walks inside. She sees a bored and tired looking Marine sitting behind a desk.

LADY LEATHERNECK

Good morning! Is this where I receive my discharge

paperwork?

BORED LANCE CORPORAL

Yes, can I see your ID?

He receives her ID and sees her rank.

I will be right back, Corporal.

The woman waits patiently but the wide smile on her face doesn’t falter. A few minutes pass and she fills out paperwork. It feels very clinical. Her smile disappears and her face becomes neutral. After a few moments, an Officer appraoches her.

OFFICER

(Curiously)

Why is that when you Marines leave, you always either look

elated or sad?

She looks at him and smiles.

LADY LEATHERNECK

I suppose it’s because we’re used to so much pageantry and

fanfare and yet when we’re finally released from service (

(sighs) - we don’t get anything. This is the happiest day of

my life and yet it feels like I’m at the DMV.

The Officer nods in understanding before checking over the paperwork. He hands her the DD214 - the discharge paperwork - and shakes her hand. She walks outside slower, no more pep in her step. She stands outside and put her shades on. At that moment she witnesses a grown man yelling at another grown man for having his hands in the pockets of his uniform. Now, she smiles. She realizes she is free. She enver has to endure a grown person belittling her like a child.

END

#marines

#military

#dd214

#ladyleatherneck