Song Inspired Oneshots

Quick Old Story Dump

| Original Work - No song

| Battle of Perspective

It was a battle of perspective.

John Bundy stood at the crime scene, his coat billowing softly in the wind. The police tape blocked the people of the body lying on the ground, their whispers being thrown into the wind before the detective could make any of the soft voices out. The white chalk highlighted where the body was resting, right underneath the window of Harry Turner's house.

Bundy's brows were furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation. It seemed like a suicide, the evidence was clear, the data showed that it seemed to be a suicide. Hell, they had even found a letter on the window-sill of the small room. What made Bundy so confused of the claim was that it just didn't seem right. He knew Turner, he wouldn't just off himself like that, but yet here was his body right there in front of him.

Bundy wondered if he had any enemies.

Turner always had a bubbly personality, Bundy found it hard to believe anyone was out to kill him. Perhaps a serial killer had come and killed him, staging it as a suicide. Perhaps Turner was wearing a mask the whole time, and he really wanted to.. you know. The argument was weak, the evidence pointing towards just a suicide. The opposing claims floating around his head seemed to just be denial that his best friend really wouldn't do that to himself.

Bundy was glad he was a detective. That's what detectives are for, figuring out things. The connotation of one making him a genius, twirling a pipe and tipping his Sherlock's hat. But he didn't feel confident about what happened that night. He felt as if his world was falling apart. And how could he not? His best friend was dead. And now he has to solve a case surrounding him.

A job of a detective is to find the truth from everyone's point of view. A bad detective would use his own perspective, often tainting the truth and sometimes even convicting the wrong person for a crime. Bundy wouldn't let a habit like that corrupt his work, though he didn't realize it already was. He was a suspect himself, being Turner's closest friend, another detective would come to question him. Bundy promised his friend he'd find the killer.

But as soon as Bundy read the letter, his hopes were crushed. The tone of his writing, it seemed so real. The lines were wobbly, as if his hand was shaking as he wrote it. It sounded just like him, and Bundy believed, just for a second, it might have really just been another case of death by themself. But he shook his head scanning his eyes over the letter again. It was believable, it seemed like it could happen. He believed it, letting his perspective melt with the rest of the populus. It was a suicide, that's all it was. But that turned out to be Bundy's biggest mistake.

He didn't realize Turner didn't loop his y's like in the letter until much, much later. 

| 513 words

| Original work - No song

| Lizard Tails

If you rip off a lizard's tail, it grows back.

Such was the rule of nature and life that every playground child knew. Catch a lizard, rip it's tail, and watch it grow back in your fish tank with no water. Such was the rule of nature and life that every hawk and snake knew. Never catch a lizard by its tail, you'll only get the tail and not the lizard. I never had to deal with such rules, as for me, I would catch a lizard by its tail. I'll lose the tail, but not the lizard.

-

The kids circled around the playground like horses in a mary-go-round. They climbed up and down slides, fell down poles, stomped on the higher levels and ran on the lower levels. They shimmied wood chips through the holes and blocked children from the twisty slide. I stood behind the fence, my pupils narrowed, the yellow that surrounded the thin lines dark with jealousy. They didn't have tails, their faces were blurry and I hated that my life was so clear while they hated me for having everything I wanted. But I didn't have everything I wanted. They wanted to hurt me, I just wanted to be free. Take me away to your nest hawks, it would be better than sitting here, waiting for the blurry kids to come and rip my tail away. It swayed behind me, brushing sage-brush because I can never control it anyways. The kids had hawk tails, I had a lizard tail so I was their prey. There was nothing stopping them from eating me, hurting me until I wished I could curl up and die. I need food for my friend, as he couldn't hunt for himself. The blurry kids made him blind. I look at him, a slight smile tugging at his lips.