The human factor
It is one of the things that differentiates us.
Watch any episode of Law and Order and you will not see any two eyewitnesses describe the same perp. I think it should be a criminal offense to give an inaccurate description of an offender no matter how good the intentions are.
If you don’t know for certain shut the fuck up.
Here is a shorty from my book Emotions: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!.
It deals with perspective.
Point of View
It was a squalid, cramped two-room apartment perched over a rusty garage roof but it looked to Dylan like a tomb. The cleaning agents under the stained white sink emitted all the ambience of an autopsy lab. The small sliver of light peeking through the dingy curtains illuminated his last real view of this planet. If only he could untie himself and remove the sticky duct tape that was choking off what few breaths he had left. Maybe he could crawl…maybe…someone would hear him!
Maybe someone would save him from The Beast.
The door was sealed; the wooden planks across it were nailed tight as a… …coffin.
In the other room, the Beast slept soundly.
Dylan’s mind was racing now, his temples pounding. He had about fifteen minutes of sunlight left. The Beast would be waking soon. As he pondered his waning existence, the cold gray walls mocked his every thought.
On the stained Formica countertop, a chopping block with sharp cutting instruments lay agonizingly out of reach. He stretched every last fiber of his body, straining to make the slightest of contact. If only….they could free him from this madness. He tried to control his breath, rushing from his lungs in a whoosh. Shit.
Time was running out.
The dingy flowered sofa cover would most likely serve as my death shroud, he thought. This was not the way he wanted to leave this world. Not by a long shot.
In the other room, the Beast stirred to life. She was terrifyingly calm, almost surgical in her carriage and demeanor. The powder-white walls made her smile.
This was home.
Her sparkling little kitchen always smelled clean and fresh. She had nailed the door shut so they could be alone. All alone. Away from prying eyes and distractions.
Distractions like her.
The new French curtains she bought saw to it they would not be disturbed. She enjoyed the thought of the great bargain she got, paying only a few dollars for them. Singing a little ditty she just could not seem to get out of her head, she calmly walked to the counter, stepping over Dylan’s broken legs. She picked up her favorite boning knife and plunged it deep into her husband’s chest, blood gushing out in a two-foot fountain.
“I told you if you ever cheated on me, I would kill you!” the Beast wailed.
As the life seeped out of Dylan’s body, she strolled over to her comfy little sofa and wrapped the flowered sofa cover around her shoulders. She wondered if she could get a new one made out of the same material as her curtains.
They were such a good bargain.