May I Have A Word?

I'd missed the bus. My backpack was heavy, the straps cutting into my shoulders. I didn't want to walk the short mile home. So I made the worst decision of my short, short, life. I cut down a dark alley. I was about halfway through when I felt the tip of a knife plunge through my backpack and graze my skin. I screamed. I ran. I thought I'd make it to the police. At least to an adult. I certainly didn't expect them to throw it. Didn't expect their aim to be perfect.

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I was making a documentary about street art. Just expecting, you know, street art. Not a kid to go running past, just to be struck down a second later! So I stopped filming and went up to this kid. She was dead! Like, I know someone had just hit her with a knife, but wow! So I got out my phone, called the police. "I just witnessed cold-blooded murder!"

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Detective Michael Johnson paced in his office. "Will you show me the film again?" he finally asked. The eager police officer pulled it up on the computer. Detective Johnson watched as the kid went by, then the knife, then the blood. His eye caught a street sign in the corner. Riverway Lane. The time stamp? 3:18. He dismissed the excited officer, then put on his coat and hat. His destination? Riverway Lane, of course.

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Hah. Got her. It does pay to have a good arm. You could say I would be able to pitch. In my glory days, maybe. Well, at least there was no blood on my hands. 1've always been terrified of a Lady Macbeth moment. If I was in an asylum, I wouldn't be able to kill.

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"What the heck is the Witness Protection Program?" I asked the man. He responded quietly,"Sometimes murderers are worried a witness knows something, so they kill the witness." I gasped, taken aback. "Gosh! Thank God for the Witness Protection Program!" He replied,"I do. Every day of my life."

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Three people lived on Riverway. A little old lady who had a swarm of cats(unlikely but possible), a young man who had just finished college(a worthy suspect), and a big, burly man who wouldn't let Detective Johnson talk to him.(a very worthy suspect). The detective called in the young man for questioning. His first question was, "Do you have good aim?"

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Was I sad my life had ended so soon? Most definitely. Would I go back if I could? Certainly. But I couldn't. That jerk! Couldn't they have waited until I was at least able to see the cool junior high lockers? It wasn't like I'd done anything to them. Psycho.

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I'd be proud if someone called me a psycho. It's sort of like a murderer's badge of approval. Though it usually meant you had been caught, because they shouldn't know you're a psychopath. Even if you really are.

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This whole thing with the Witness Protection Program scared me. It was like a murder mystery novel, you know? It was just scary, like, I was just doing my thing, and this MURDERER decides to kill someone and maybe kill me too! That isn't something that happens every day, right? Right?

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Detective Johnson had finished his questioning with the young man and was able to rule him out. So it was now time for the burly man. He steeled his courage, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. The man opened it with a glare. "I'm here to talk about the girl that was killed here yesterday."

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I watched the detective walk around the alleyway, and I held in a "Watch out!" though he wouldn't have heard it anyway. He wasn't doing the things they do in movies with magnifying glasses and fingerprint testing. He was just pacing and looking around. Seemed...legit.

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I looked out my window and saw that the pesky detective was still poking around. Hmph. I thought he'd left. Why didn't they just leave it alone? She was just a little girl. Plenty of them in the world. Must be an extra her family could borrow.

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I'm sorta living on edge. Like, every creak I hear sounds like a murderer coming up behind me. And then when I don't see anything, I have this scaaaary moment where it's like the Invisible Man movies. But whoops~just paranoid.

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The detective finished questioning the man. He was apparently at the bar when the girl was murdered. Detective Johnson headed to the Hairy Nose Pub(mind the name)to check. The bartender could confirm. Then the detective headed back to the alley, knocked on the old woman's door, and when it opened, he said,"May I have a word?"