Optimistically Cynical: A Short Story Compilation- 1

THE SHOT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

It was a fairly quiet night and I was sitting in my den with a book held in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. It isn't a particularly interesting read, but I rarely give up easily, even when things get tough. As such, I'm determined to see it through to the end.

I am in the midst of a rather difficult paragraph, when I hear a faint yet distinct crack. I hold perfectly still, willing my ears to enlarge themselves, so that I might hear every single sound. But all I hear is silence.

I set the book down along with the wine and rise to my feet. It's silly of me to remain seated. I should have stood up immediately and investigated. That, would have been the proper response. As such, I decide it's time to act. I set out past the open double doors and down a long hallway.

As my slippered feet touched the plush carpet, I run the different scenarios in my head, while I followed the path I'm certain the sound had taken.

Could it have been an old floor board? No, it couldn't have been that. What about one of the rungs on the banister being kicked? No, that didn't fit either. Maybe a door had been slammed. No, it definitely wasn't that.

I had just made it to the spiraling staircase that stretches all the way to the third, topmost floor of the house, when the revelation hits me like a sledgehammer. What I had heard was unmistakably, a gunshot.

I freeze in place as the truth sinks into my being. I feel as though I can't move, save for my head which cranes upwards in an attempt to pierce through the obstructions, so that I might fully see what lays above me.

I try to call out, but my voice sticks in my throat, as though the unnatural silence has fused with the atmosphere, becoming so thick that it possesses its own weight.

I set my foot upon the first step, as I find myself able to move again, but only just. One by one I take the steps, slowly making my way toward the second floor, where I find the air to be less heavy.

I stare down the short hallway that leads to the main bedrooms. The doors are all shut, except the door closest to the stairwell. Again I want to speak, but I now find my throat to be so dry that it starts to hurt. I would have gone for a glass of water, but this mystery demands my full, undivided attention.

Powerless to change course, I find myself walking toward the dark doorway. As I drew near I can hear another sound, far different from the first. I can't quite make it out, until I'm within five paces of my destination. It's the unmistakable sound of someone crying.

I step through the open passage into the dark room. I feel along the wall for the light switch, which I flick. Nothing happens. I try again. Still nothing. I try multiple times in succession, as though the bulb is merely stuck and this would jostle it free. Again, nothing.

I stare up at the single light fixture that hangs down from the ceiling. I can just make out its outline, the light bulb is missing.

At last I find a bit of saliva toward the back of my throat and I sloshed it around, soaking every inch of my mouth. "Kimberly?" I call out, as I gaze into the darkness. "Kimberly, is that you?"

"Mama," I hear her familiar voice break through the sobs. "Mama, I told you, but you didn't, believe me."

"What's wrong, baby?" I query, as I slide my feet along the carpet, so that I might progress without bumping into anything.

"Mama, I told you," Kimberly repeats, her voice still cracking from the emotional chokehold. "But you didn't listen."

"Baby," I start in. "I don't understand what you are talking about."

"Mama, I didn't, mean to. I just..." Kimberly's words fall away.

"Baby, I'm right here. I'll be..." my words catch in my throat, as my foot makes contact with something solid.

I gaze down at the obstruction, as my night vision kicks in, allowing me to see. There's a man lying on the floor, naked, with a dark streak sliding toward his left side, completely visible against his pale skin.

"What did you do?" I ask, while my eyes remain fixed to the body.

"I told you, Mama, I really tried-" Kimberly entreats me, before her words are cut off.

"What did you do?!" I shout.

I hear a loud, metallic thud and without being able to see, I know it's a revolver. I drop to my knees and lay my head in my hands. She'd done it. My daughter had shot George. But I refuse to believe he was that kind of man. I don't know why he's naked in her bedroom, but there has to be a proper reason.

I stand up and start to back out of the room, as though I were playing the events in reverse which would take the bullet out of George and put it back in the gun. Then maybe, I could do something to prevent this tragedy.

I shut the door, muffling Kimberly's protests, before walking back down the steps as I hear the gun go off in rapid succession in my head, along with the thud of the firearm.

I make my way back to the den. And stand in front of the cold fireplace, with my hands pressed against the mantle, as I let out a primal scream. I scream for so long that my voice gets hoarse. And it's only at this point that the tears start to flow.

I dry my tears and walk away, toward the little table, set against the wall beneath the windows. I lift the receiver and put it to my ear.

"Hello? Police?" I speak into the mouthpiece. "I would like to report a murder."