She is sat in her attic, crumpled

against the wooden rafters,

and she's staring at the wasp's nest

in the corner. She itches all the time.

She meaning you. Her ears ring

and her arms sting like fresh wounds

from all the skin she has been picking at. 

As the dark days end

and the sun arises from the ominous clouds,

I linger the smell of the fresh grass cut,

and the birds chirping through the meadow.

Everyone's made of stardust,

Each individual a bright burning star.

They release huge amounts of energy,

From the powerful passion burning at their core.

The river is trickling,

The river is gleaming,

The river is splashing.

Before you, I was an empty field,

a landscape waiting to be filled. 

You make me confused,

You make me question every move:

You advance your pawn.

And I can’t tell if it’s real or not;

For what was once black and white,

Is now a rainbow of blind love.

In the Rabbit Burrows,
I lay,
Watching as flies gather at my feet,
Like mold,
Hungrily buzzing,
But refraining from doing,
Anything more.

It is the gnashing of teeth --

Tongue over teeth,

Teeth crushing tongue,

Crushed tongue spilling broken words

That bleed from cut lips

I have a dream, a vision so bright 

A world of love, where we can all unite  

A place where skin colour does not divide 

To love and not be loved

To be in love doth not demand thy love in return,

Yet to muster the fortitude to walk in thy shadow and behold the dearest light.

Silence lies unsought yet unveils itself in darkest hours,

Chapter 1, before

7.7.1963, New Addington Police Station, England

Paris’ hand found their gun in its usual pocket, and pulled it out, the cold, cold metal a welcome reassurance on their sweaty, hot palms. This was it. One of the criminals were in the room: they’d set a trap and the bait had been fallen for. The slightly askew door was the golden snitch they’d finally caught after all these years of painstaking investigation. The murders were so random it seemed like were unconnected, uncoordinated. But the attacks were all cast upon the same school class who’d bullied the immigrants. It’d taken months of fortnightly interviews to coax the right information from the only victim to have survived an assault from the murderer, one with severe head trauma who was still in rehab.  Paris couldn’t wait to make the culprits rot in prison. Being picked on wasn’t an excuse for murder.

March 1st 1989,

 Another quiet, dark night- almost too quiet for Letumvale city. The usual rusty, rundown cars sped through the silence of the street, slicing through any reassurances left of this damned city. Midnight, yet there’s no crime, hell on Earth, but there’s no demons. I know this city, and there’s something going on beneath the abyss. Something begging me to uncover. The wet leaves crush under my brown, heavy boots, trash camouflaging under the dark brown hues- it hasn’t rained in days, not since that night. Not since any of those nights, I suppose. It only seems to rain when something so gruesome happens that lucifer has no other choice but to cry. I turn a corner into an alleyway, risky, but anything in this city is risky. Besides, there’s more peril going into your local store. The police station is hidden, I think it’s inane, but the concept of police believing they can fix Letumvale is even more so.

The smell of bleach lingers in the room.

She’s already bleached the clothes with the splatters of blood all over them, and she’s thrown them out along with the air freshener she emptied when she was trying to kill the smell.

The damn smell is still here. It’s driving her mad.

I arrived at the ghastly village at 06:15 a.m., an hour or so after the call came in. unidentified male, estimated around sixty, found near the old forest path.

mist engulfed the gloomy horizon, an eerie silence settling over the landscape. cottages appeared and disappeared again as I drove through the quiet town, their windows dark against the early morning frost. I'd been warned by my peers about the unsettling muteness of the neighbourhood — how it was the place detectives were sent when their own city minds had grown too loud. somewhere quiet. somewhere uneventful. somewhere people went when they needed the absence of chaos.

“Wait, didn’t I tell you I never want to see you again?” she gasped. “What are you doing? No, leave me alone! Stop! Aaaaaargh!”

The Next Day

“The court decided you won’t be arrested, but you’ll still have a punishment,” the lawyer said.

“Okay, hit me,” David replied.

“You’re on house arrest.”

The smell hit me before I even touched the handle. It wasn't the rich, earthy aroma of smouldering amber or the fresh lemongrass my mother left to soak on the windowsill. Instead, it was the pungent odour of decaying flesh mixed with a stench of sewage that no ventilation could mask.

“Nia, you know how important this case is,” Mr Calvins stated, “After all, you are new employee. This will give me a first impression of you.”

          “I understand sir, thank you for this opportunity,” I replied, in a tone I thought was sort of professional. But of course, I needed to be professional this was my first case on the job.

          “Thank you for coming, you are dismissed,” he said whilst I was already halfway out the door.

           Once I reached my office, my mind was like a bubble about to burst. How could I start?

Davids’ diary

Micheal Benson. 38 years old of age. The housekeepers of his mansion always hovering over him, craving validation of how they cleaned the house.  He worked as a surgeon. he believed on making a difference in the world, being the hero, being the person people would turn to for help. Saving people’s lives essentially… ironic if you ask me. Instead, he suddenly became the opposite. I mean he’s made a difference on the world, just not as he wanted. He’s ended up as a villain than a hero and he’s the person people would see in their nightmares, like he’s a disease to prevent and avoid. Most importantly of all, the surgeon slaughtered lives. Not just anyone, his own family. Or that’s what it seems.

Prologue

"Hello! ... Hello?"

     Silence. Pure nothingness. I was trapped, again. Yes, I know, I shouldn't have taken that path. Last time when...

    OW

    What? Oh yes. Kidnapped! Almost forgot, I mean I just got hit by a book. Wait! Why did I get hit by a book? Why did I get kidnapped? Well I can tell you one reason!

Let's go back. Back in time.

some time before now

Detective Marques is a tall, mysterious man who never talks to anyone except the corpses he works with. And it has always been that way and people are fine with that. If he was keeping us safe and murder free everything was okay.

 He has solved some of the hardest cases in our small-town that even professional police officers could not. He even solved the Jessica Wang case-which was named the hardest case in the country.