Short Stories

The Leaves That Speak

The breeze blew in softly, picking up fallen leaves and swirling them around for a moment before putting them back down. He sat with his back towards the giggling and carefree children as the parents watched them more carefully then last month. He looked at the pond and he white graceful swans before turning his attention back towards his newspaper. There's been a recent string of crimes, around five women were tortured, raped, and killed, but what connects the victims are the numbers stabbed on their stomach and are then filled with violet paint. They are calling the murderer, "The Orchid Numbers," he chuckled at the name.

"They can't even discern different shades of color," he whispered. He knows who the serial killer is, he walked in when his friend was filling the body with paint, but he doesn't know if he should turn him in. He was startled by a beautiful red-headed woman who sat next to him.

"I'm sorry," she smiled, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Don't worry about it."

"What are you doing all alone? Are you waiting for someone?"

"No," he sighed, "Why are you alone? Haven't you heard that 'The Orchid Numbers' is still at large?"

"I'm not scared," she smiled wider, her green eyes sparkling with joy, "sooner or later, we are all going to die. Why not enjoy everyday to the max?"

He smiled at her, his black hair falling over his sparkling blue eyes. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, I'll turn him in for her.