MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “guns”

An unexpected awakening

Misty drinkKarin woke up feeling her head was about to explode. Had she fainted? She looked around but what she saw had happened was very different from what she remembered. And why did she have blood all over her hands?

The last thing she recalls is having a drink at home with Regina. Come to think of it, it was her shadow that she saw running hastily away after David’s shooting. But was David really shot? He had no bullet signs; instead Karin had a wound on her arm from where a bullet scraped her. David on the other hand seemed stabbed. And the dagger lay right there next to Karin.

So what on earth had happened?

Karin had to remember. She had to force herself out of this trance and recall what happened. What really happened and not what she mistily thought did.

So, she was having a drink with Regina, to congratulate Karin on her lead role in the performance, and Regina was telling her that she did deserve it – a hint of sarcasm with a lot of jealousy?

Then Regina asked for a refill, and Karin left the room for a minute. When she came back, she did taste something a bit different in her drink. And then it all became fuzzy. As if she was living a dream, or rather a nightmare! So Regina had given her a drug; one that allegedly was the door to paradise – or hell – from the likes of it.

So, what had happened? Was Regina so jealous that she caused Karin to kill the person she loved the most? And not even remember it? And then, what? Regina even tried to shoot her off?

And what was David doing there anyway? Was he trying to warn her?

The piece of paper Karin had found in David’s pocket still lay there on the floor. She picked it up, with the clouds now removed from her eyes and read it clearly:

“Trust no one. Not even yourself”.

Also part of this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge to include the third definition of the word door:

3: a means of access or participation : opportunity <opens new doors> <door to success>


A Lethal Clue

Bullet hole in glassDavid stood there soaking wet from head to toe. She grabbed him from his shirt and pulled him in, poking her head outside just to check no one had seen them. You could never be sure.

What happened? Whose was that blood? What had he gotten himself into? Karin needed answers, her mind was about to explode from the panic and the unanswered questions that circled her head, threatening to devour every thought she had.

But David just stood there still. As if in a state of ecstasy. As if what had happened had not quite registered in his mind yet. He was clenching the dagger in his fist and was staring into…nothing. His otherwise enchanting emerald green eyes now seemed void of all emotion.

What on earth had happened?

Karin began to search his pockets for a clue. As she drew out a small folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket, David flinched, as if he had been awaken all of a sudden. Karin quickly unfolded it, with an unsteady hand and a pounding heart. It had an address and two initials: I. Z. She dropped the paper as she immediately felt the floor being swept off from underneath her feet. She recognized that address and knew that name. Ivy Zanda. It was her best friend and co-dancer. They practically grew up together. And she didn’t live too far away. Why was this in David’s pocket? And what did he do to her?

Did you kill her?” She yelled at him, almost in tears. It couldn’t have been her. No, Karin refused to accept that Ivy was responsible for all this trouble she was in.

“Not…her” David managed to utter as if something was choking him.

“Then who? What happened?” She urged.

But David never managed to say. As soon as he opened his mouth, a swish was heard, with glass shattering from the window by the door behind him. Karin shrieked, as he fell in her arms. Lifeless.

Also part of this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge to include the third definition of the word ecstasy:

ECSTASY (noun)

3: trance; especially : a mystic or prophetic trance


A dark act

theatre_stageDarkness, like an evil wizard, had engulfed her soul end to end, carefully tucking away the edges. She could just about picture how it would all happen and that made her shiver despite the stifling heat outside. All color was erased from her normally peachy cheeks as the image ran through her head. Right when the swan song would sound, when that majestic figure would gracefully dance its last breath away, when the notes from that classic masterpiece would delicately pluck the strings of each heart in the room, right then. That is when they would strike. They would barge in, breaking down the theatre doors and charge in like soldiers of the apocalypse, with their bazookas and Kalashnikovs at hand, pointing them at anyone who would dare to even move. It would be horrible. And that was why she had to avert it at all costs. She had to do something to save her job, her dignity, her life. She had to fight. It wasn’t going to be easy. But she would try.

The doorbell rang as the rain could be heard drizzling down the tin roof from the attic. It was monsoon season. And it was also pitch black outside. A sign of the gloom to come? She was still horrified from the dreadful “could-have-beens” that had overwhelmed her. With a trembling hand she opened the door. She wasn’t really expecting anyone. So when she saw David standing there she was even more shocked than before. Especially since in his right hand he was holding a dagger. And it was dripping blood.

Also part of this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge to include the third definition of the word color:

color (noun)
3: complexion tint:
a : the tint characteristic of good health
b : blush


The Chase

police-shadowThe wind was lashing at his face as if punishing him for his actions. But he persisted in speeding against it. He had to reach there in time. His 650 cubic engine bike skid across the gravel as it came to a halt. He jumped down and ran, past the old wooden door of the building, which from afar seemed a ramshackle and up the stone steps. His heart was pounding. Was he in time?

The apartment door creaked as he pushed it open, leaning aside so as to avoid anything that would potentially fly out at him. Nothing. Silence crept across the room as the floor squeaked at his presence.

The place was a mess. Even messier than usual. It all revealed a fight had taken place there. Someone thrown over the table as it broke, and then across the wardrobe as it leaned open, acceding to its torturers. He could picture it all in his head. Gunshots had been fired, for there were bullet-holes and empty shells scattered around. And then he saw it…

Traces of blood.

He couldn’t tell if it was his own, as his hand was still bleeding badly. He had by now grown numb to the pain and didn’t care about that. He just wanted to find her.

If those bastards hurt her, it’s gonna be the end of them, he thought as he scanned the room for another clue, some evidence that could reveal where they where.

As he turned to look inside the hole that was forged in the wall clearly as a result of the earlier wrestling, he saw a shadow move across. The pupils of his eyes widened. Alert, he reached for the bottom of the desk, feeling for a button to press. A button that would be his salvation.

The shadow moved closer. It was tall and muscular. And it was coming right at him. A body-builder-type man who seemed impenetrable, as a dagger was still protruding out of his left shoulder blade and a piece of wood was sticking out of his foot. Yet he kept moving. Frank was apparently his next victim.

He found it! And with a click a side drawer sprung out from the desk. Frank grabbed the revolver now in sight and hammered down the personification of carnage rapidly approaching. He fell down like a thick pine tree in the woods. Only there was no-one to yell “timber”. Frank felt relieved but it was no time to relax, no matter what his namesake Frankie used to say. He quickly got up and started searching the man’s pockets. There was bound to be something there. Something that would help him find Loren. He couldn’t lose her now. Not after all they had been through. They were the only thing they had left from their previous lives. He had vowed to stand by her and he was not going to break his promise.

He found a folded paper in one of the trouser pockets. It was an address. 306 Westwood Avenue, Warehouse 5. He knew where that was and it wasn’t friendly. He had to hurry. He grabbed the gun and ran out the door.

As the bike growled to a start, another shadow appeared at the window directly above. A man, brawny yet thin, smoking a cigar. But Frank hadn’t seen him…

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