The Collection: Short Stories, Misfits, and One-shots

y=mx+b

So, this is my gift to those of you who have stuck with me through this long period of posting pretty much nothing.  This story was inspired by the latest episode of Sherlock, which is one of my family's favorite mystery shows.  After this last episode I wanted to go into a character that is elusive to us, but yet constantly present.  I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to comment, vote, and check out my page for more!

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A problem requires a solution, demands a key, and most especially warrants an answer; that is what we are taught as children, until we no longer can comprehend the dark and honest truth.  The truest and most deceptively natural conclusion to an equation is that in its being "solved", we are left with the closest answer we can understand.

Let me clarify: a man shoots a woman, she is dead.  Her death is our solution, his action and presence merely variables in the formula.  It's all very mathematical, all very simple.  Or is it?  In short hand, it may very well be, but I would like to cut out our supposed shortcut and take us back to the beginning.  Not the beginning of the incident, mind you, but the very introduction so to speak.

Who is the man?  The woman?  What was their relationship?  Their proximity to one another?  Where did he stand?  Where did she?  Was he directly behind her?  In front of her?  Was it personal? 

 I get ahead of myself, or rather you, as I am already adept at this scenario.  Let's start again with the basics, and work our way towards the real answer you no doubt wish to find.  Here's another equation I find just might work; A man walks along a pier, no one is outside with him or near him, it is a chilly, but dull, perhaps peaceful morning.  He continues making his way along the pier and takes a drink from the bottle of beer that he has been carrying.  There is a pause then he begins walking again, but stops, a hand flying to his throat.  Next he falls over, is pronounced dead, you get the rest.  The police investigate, the beer was not poisoned, as I am sure you figured it'd be.  No, there was poison involved, but poison is not always instantaneous as you have now found out.  No, this poison was lovingly drizzled into his morning frittata at his usual restaurant only a ten minute walk from the pier, where he had a business brunch with his business partner, a Mr. Smith.  Mr. Smith is later arrested for murder, forever linked to the death of his longtime friend and associate.  The police are happy, and their restless public satiated.  

This is where I tell you, that they missed something, which they did.  Mr. Smith, while standing to gain everything by the death of his friend, did not in fact kill his friend.  As per their usual Monday morning routine they met at the restaurant, Mr. Smith tried a new dish, but his friend who was not so daring, and maybe stuck in his ways ordered the very dish to kill him; the frittata.  This deceitful and innocent appearing frittata was handled by three people that morning; the cook, the sous chef, and a waiter.  All had the opportunity, and chance to drizzle the poison over the breakfast plate, but not all were who they truly said to be.  In this pool of suspects we have an impostor, I'll tell you who this once; the sous chef.  Why him you ask?  Who else handles all the food and yet gets the least amount of credit?  The chef is the artist, and the waiter the showman, but the sous chef is merely in charge of preparing the materials, a large task with little return.  It was on this day that the usual sous chef called out sick, and his replacement brought in hastily; a Mr. Z, who upon arriving worked hard and well, but spoke very little.  These instances are many, and random, but not always seen.  Mr. Z in this case, was not seen.  Would you have noticed him?

Let us try another: A girl runs out into a busy street, she has not looked both ways before crossing as many choose not to, but that is irrelevant to us.  There is a bus coming, the driver unaware of her presence in his path.  Here we have a few choices to choose from for our solution: a) The girl is hit by the bus, b) A passerby sees her and saves her, c) the bus driver sees her and swerves, d) none of the above.  Most likely you have chosen either the hit by the bus, or even the being saved options, well I'll cut to the chase, it is actually none of the above.  She did not die by bus, nor was she saved, for that very same day she like the man mentioned before was killed slowly, but surely.  She too, was poisoned.  Have I lost you yet?  When she ran in the way of the bus, she fell, but it was not by tripping, and no one was able to help her in time, but the authorities checked her, and they found poison!  This is the part I love to tell, because you see, no one seems to follow, and their expressions are very much like yours; full of surprise, and shock, perhaps some horror.

I think it's about time we go back to our man and woman from before; Mr and Mrs. Woodsen.  Mrs. Abigail Woodsen, such a lovely woman, did not see this coming, just as you did not, for it was her loving husband of thirty some odd years that is the one to end it all.  He stands in front of her, eyes locked with her the whole time, until he pulls the trigger of his pistol, and the sound echoes in the small, dark room.  There is a shake in his arm both before and after the act, and then in the silence he asks this one question; 'is that enough?'.  He does not ask this question of himself, but from another.  

This is where we must discuss the problem with our beloved equation.  We are well equipped for solving the x's and y's of our equation, but not the z.  The z is an often confusing, and unexplained variable, especially when it should not exist when given y=mx+b.  Mr. Z is a variable we have not seen, and therefore cannot comprehend.  He sits watching Mr and Mrs. Woodsen, prompting their actions and decisions.  He is the one to give us our solution that Mrs. Woodsen is in fact dead.  He is the one that gives us our variables of Mr. Woodsen's presence and action.  He is the one to shoot Mr. Woodsen, and then make it look like a suicide, further deluding us that this murder and suicide were just that, and not the random and strange killing that it and many others are in this examination.

Let us end on one last question: You are reading this story and now you realize that; a) You are well, and happy that you are not in this equation, b) surprised and shocked at Mr. Z, c) finishing this and not alone, d) that this is in fact the real end.   

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How was that?  Freaky?  Let me know in the comments, or simply vote on the chapter!  This book needs your support, and every vote counts.  :)  --- Our ratio of reads:votes is low, and 3ish comments?   Ouch, I feel hurt.  Let's finish strong guys?  I might throw in an extra chapter in May when the book ends if you'd like, I am not above bribes.  Let me put the stat here; 535 reads, 41 votes.  Finish the fight!