A Muffled Cry
He was surprised that he could finish the job without losing his nerve; he was composed even when he had slashed her face.
It was a perfect murder; he was sure of that. No one would ever come to know as to what had happened to her. In this city no one really cared; they had been living together for three years but very people knew her. No one would miss her.
He was anxious to call Ann; they had to get married before she left for France.
As he entered the room he was unnerved for a few moments; a mystifying emptiness enveloped him.
“I must quickly get rid of everything that belonged to her… and that doll… that disgusting doll…I would burn it to ashes. How could she even like that abominable thing?”
He searched every nook and corner of the flat but the doll was nowhere to be found. He was certain that it was lying on the bed when they had left in the morning.
He heard a muffled cry; it stunned him. He thought someone was crying in the bathroom. It terrified him; she was in the habit of locking herself in the bathroom and crying for hours.
He entered the bathroom. The doll was in the bathroom; it had two deep scars, as if someone had slashed its face.
A post for Sunday Photo Fiction
Word count 228