It was estimated that fifty-five people had murdered in the month of January. Common case? Poison from buttermilk pancakes. Yes, a murder was on the loosed and the FBI was still scratching their heads. They simply cannot pin-point the killer or even the next location
"We are currently investigating the New Orleans crime scene for evidence. If you have any information concerning the killer please contact your nearest police station. Help us stop this mass murd- "swiftly the TV was turned off and only the light hum of conversation could be heard.
Clyde's diner was spacious and always seemed to be buzzing. The waitresses were constantly zooming by only leaving behind a lingering scent of stale coffee and cheap perfume. A perfect diner for the perfect murder.
"Can I take your order ma'am?" a timid country twang asked. I assessed her from behind my prada sunglasses. She was a common country girl. From her small trembling frame all the way up to her ridiculously big southern hair. Sliding off my sunglasses, I quickly noticed her cowboys' boots matched the color of her locks.
"How cute…" I muttered underneath my breath, carefully folding the glasses then placing them on the ruby red counter. My sharp hazel eyes meet her baby blues and with amusement watched as her face turned from a nervous tomato red to a dangerous violent purple.
Predictable, I thought as if I wasn't beautiful enough. Now you may say I was being audacious but when your 5'11" born and raised in Korea, I got told other wise. With my skin like snow; hair like ebony, I got noticed.
"Black coffee and the three tower pancakes." Raising an eyebrow at her plum face.
"R-right away ma'am." I watched as she scurried off. She'd probably be the first one to cry.
Looking out the window, I frowned noticing a loom of grey clouds covering the bright sun. It would rain soon.
Time seemed to lap by as I sat back in the corner and observed the diner. Families and truckers scattered across the room, their laughter floating in the air. If only they knew what was to come.
My waitress placed the coffee and pancakes before me and while muttering nonsense, pushed through the swinging doors and vanished from my view. A sweet smell waffled through my nose, making me cringe. I hated pancakes.
My eyes swept through Clyde's diner again, only this time I was looking for victims. The first one was a large man who appeared to be half-way through a full plate. He was beating his chest like a baboon and speaking rapidly between chews. Then suddenly almost magically, he started to choke. His fork clutched in the beefy hand slipped and fell in the sugary syrup. His eyes bugged, face turning red. He gasped his shirt and with one final breath, slammed his head straight into the pancakes. I would have stood up and applauded but a loud scream beat me too it.
A pregnant woman lay dead in the mist of her pancakes and eggs. A little boy who was turning a delicious shade of blueberry followed shortly behind her.
One by one people were falling dead. Their face imprinted deep into the sweet pastries. I felt my chest begin to buzz. My hand became clammy. The feeling was coming. That thrill. The thrill of doing something wrong. The thrill of escaping. The thrill of never getting caught. The thrill of killing.
"Please h-help. P-people are d-dying. I-I don't k-now…oh my god." One of the waitresses was speaking into the telephone, her cheeks glistening with tears.
'And that's my exit.' I thought, pushing against the swinging doors and tumbling into the back alley way. The clouds were dark, almost black. It would rain very soon.
I slide in my keys and opened the door to my car. And as the car sprang to life; an ambulance was quickly heard.
"Too late boys…" I whispered. I sat there and watched as they began to pull body after body from Clyde's diner. I felt a ripple of pride streak through me. I had done that. Those bodies were dead because of me.
Thunder boomed through the sky, and rain began to fall. It started as a light prattle but suddenly, it began to pour. The rain was hard and fast. Wind shoving against the trees. Lightning and thunder dominated the skies. It was a storm.
Frowning because thunder always scared me, I pulled out of the parking lot. I glanced back one last time, having no intentions on ever coming back. And that's when I saw her. The red haired waitress. But she wasn't crying over the dead bodies, or talking to the authorities. She was staring straight on my car. Straight at me.
My heart began to double as I clutched the steering wheel. She knew. She knew. She knew. I speed out of the parking lot onto the open highway.
"They would never believe her," I repeatedly stated out loud. "And they deserved what was coming to them. Humans are born to die."
I smiled when my heart began to slow down and pulled into a nearest gas station. I tugged out an old map and lazily marked Texas off.
"I heard Seattle has great coffee. I bet they won't mind if I paid them a little visit."
Hey guys! My first story(: tell me what you think.