The Heel Of Her shoe

Call of Cyanide

I strut down the aisle cautiously, Trumpets Voluntary playing in the backdrop. A classical favorite of mine, but I mustn't get distracted. The composer, Jeremiah Clarke, commit suicide after creating the piece. And its bad luck truly fits the scene, I would say of course. Alas, I mustn't get distracted.

After the cutesy talk of being together forever and whatnot, it was finally the time for the murder. "You may kiss the bride." Or as I say, "Kiss my cyanide.". But that wouldn't be something to say out loud. In an instant, I carefully stabbed the needle into his ankle, which was covered by a couple layers of poof in my dress so that nobody could see. He screamed of sudden pain of poison entering his body, and I acted startled. But on the inside, I was cheering the poison on. But before he went unconscious, he gave me a strange look, as if he knew what had happened. No, that's impossible... He couldn't have known... he then fell unconscious. Confusion and panic arose, and a few of the guests called the doctor. But as much as I wanted to dart away at that very instant, that would be very suspicious. I was already a suspect for the crime.

As soon as the doctor arrived, they knew what had happened. It was not just an accident, it was a murder. But who had done it? They later found out that it was a poisoning, but they had no knowledge of what. That is good news for me, because I know what it is. And nobody would think that an innocent little girl like me would ever even think about doing such a thing! And who would throw a woman in jail for a murder in which is "impossible" for her to commit? Of course, I am no ordinary woman.

Unlike them, I know exactly how to tell lies, which no young woman like myself should do. But when questioned with a murder in which she did commit, it's safe to say that I have a reason to do so. And it will be worth not being thrown in prison, or worse, hanged. But only time will tell how this turns out.

After about a month of silence, me and some other members of my family, and what would have been my family, went to court. I rid of all evidence of tampering with the shoe and the dress, along with any remaining traces of cyanide. It would be risk to burn the dress, unless I said it was for superstitious reasons. This was in case all went wrong. But I knew once they were convinced that it was I who sinned, there was no going back.

    In court I tried my best to act sad, and even managed to shed a single alligator tear.

"Beatrice Anne, if you did commit the murder of Charles Rowe, now would be the time to confess. Along with anyone else in this room."

Nobody spoke a word.

"You are dismissed from court until further investigation is needed."

I walked out of court, and like an actor from a play, opened the tear ducts wider, making ugly sobs while stumbling out the door. That was real crying though. I was scared that I would be found out, be set to die. For killing is not a common thing in this small town, so there would most definitely be consequences. So I made the final decision, to run away to my cousin in a different town, Fiona.

~ End Chapter ~