Time For A Murder

Posted: 27 August 2013 in fiction, writing
Tags: ,

I mentioned yesterday that I unsuccessfully submitted two very short stories for something. You saw the first yesterday; figured you might like to see the second..

Like yesterday’s it’s a little longer than a fast fiction, around 500 words.

Anyway… enjoy.



The decadent music was louder than I’d like, and the girl was quieter. She died easily enough, though, and I was pleased that everything had gone to plan. Almost everything, I hear a small voice in the back of my head, almost everything. I wish I could sleep though. I’m very tired. Killing people is exhausting. Who knew?


I can still hear the man breathing his last. It haunts me and taunts me whenever I stop thinking of anything else. I shake my head, trying to clear it of the noise and the static. Everything snaps into focus for a moment and then… that damn breathing, like it’s inside my brain.


The older woman died almost instantly. Almost. There was hardly any blood though. I’d learned more by then. I never even thought of her again, almost forgot how it felt to kill her so smoothly.

If only the man’s laboured breathing wasn’t drowning my soul. In and out. Fainter but still there. In and out.


I think about how I planned the murders; seems so very long ago now. I knew each of their routines, how they all led their boring, silly lives. No more.



Why won’t he shut up? It’s like he’s right next to me, sitting on the chair. I killed him on the floor. He should still be there. But that bloody, liquid breathing. The same day and it’s all I can hear right now. Dammit, shut up.

I concentrate on the the satanic symbols I painted on the wall in their own blood, the wealth of evidence I planted so that locals will be blamed for the murders. And for a moment, the noise goes away. Then it returns.


I can’t think of anything else now. If I close my eyes, I hear the rasping breaths; if I open them I see the blood. So much blood.

I need help. I know that now.


Of course, that was a fanciful thought; no-one can help me. I’d have to tell the truth, explain everything. They’d never understand, never appreciate why I killed them. They’d be jealous, anyway. I have to take care of this myself no matter how long it takes.


Finally, the breathing stops. Finally, I hear nothing. I close my eyes. Christ, I’m tired. Then I open them. Silence. At long last. Silence.

I glance at my watch.

Eight minutes. Twenty-eight minutes past seven in the morning.

It took him almost eight minutes to die.

I giggle softly to myself and then leave.

Happy new minute, everyone. Happy new minute.

© Lee Barnett, 2013

  1. helenmidgley says:

    I loved the time concept in this, I really thought it was years until the end. Great twist. :)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s