I loved her, even if she never knew my name. She was my Ariel, and I know I am her Eric.
No matter what she says.
#1 in short story on 02/07/18
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I climbed into my car with Attina's clothes in a briefcase and drove off. Although it was seven thirty, the lazy bastards that occupied my town were still sleeping, although today that was an extreme plus.
The sheriff was really helping. Planting the idea that Attina was a whore into the minds of others, it would take later for them to take her case seriously. To make that seed flourish and become a beautiful flower, I needed to add proof.
My plan was simple. Plant her clothes somewhere not far from the ass- er, gas station, and make it look like she was just about to enjoy a good time.
Looking back, I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
