Sitting on my porch…

The town is awfully quiet tonight. You can hear the crickets sing, but that’s about it. Fireflies are playing tag in the fields. The neighboring dogs are quiet. Windows are closed against the drenching humidity. You can’t hear any televisions on or music playing. The moon is a perfect crescent, not much light. The sky is clear, but the stars have gone to play in another universe. As I walk down the sidewalk of Main Street in my little town, I smile to myself as I think of the residents who live here. They all know me. We all know each other. If one sneezes, someone hands you a tissue and then gets on the phone to tell someone you have a cold. They would never in a million years suspect that I will kill one of them tonight. I have been really, really good. I have done my dirty deeds in towns miles and miles away. I have disposed of the bodies and they have never been found, or I have planted DNA from someone else and I have never been caught. I am an old soul in an old body. Each day I greet the people from my town with a smile as they drink their morning coffee and walk their dogs. I am a pillar of the community. What no one knows is that I have sharpened my blade, which is my favorite mode of death. I lovingly polished the knife earlier in the afternoon while having iced tea on my front porch, nodding to people passing by on the sidewalk. I ask after their families and their loved ones. I will never get caught. I know that I am broken in the deepest recesses of my mind. I know that is why I am filled with an overwhelming need to taste the blood…
I’m a mystery writer!!

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