A Slightly Chilly Summer’s Night

By Baccus Cremaeus

February 14, 2005

Valentine’s Day

Drip.

You hear something splat to the floor behind you.

Drop.

An ominous plop lightly splatters your new shoes.

Drip.

You can almost hear the nonexistent murderer pop from nowhere behind you.

Drop.

The setting is perfect for a scene in a horror or thriller film.

Drip.

After all, it is almost midnight, you’re all alone, and the light drip-drops of leaking pipe above your head while you walk down a smelly alley to get to your apartment are the only noises.

Drop.

That’s odd. You can’t even hear the cars as they amble past in the street 45 feet away from where you toddle down the alley.

Drip.

The drips and the drops. That’s all that come to your ears.

Drop.

You get the feeling that something very horrible awaits your eyes as you very slowly tilt your head upwards.

Drip.

You feel a wet substance on your forehead.

Drop.

And your stomach rushes up to spew its contents out of your mouth as you look at the sight above you.

Drip.

You wonder briefly before vomiting on the sidewalk who she was, and why the hell was she hanging from a pipe with gashes that dripped-and-dropped blood all over the alley’s paving.

Drop.

And that’s exactly what her poor, mangled, gashed, dead body does.

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Author’s Note: Hehe, it’s rough and incredibly morbid, but this is one of the few works of mine that I’m actually pleased with. Please review, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.